


Home Is Where the Hurt Is

by bluefay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, POC Harry Potter, POC Hermione Granger, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Recovery, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefay/pseuds/bluefay
Summary: Draco finds himself floating through life, each day as miserable as the next. Six months have passed since the battle of Hogwarts, and he is consumed by the repercussions. As he tries to figure out what to make out of himself, his path crosses with his childhood nemesis, Harry Potter. Through a processes of friendship, forgiveness, patience, healing, and love, Draco and Harry find solace within one another.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 58
Kudos: 263





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted the full version of this months ago, but I finally got around to getting a beta, so here is the new and improved version!
> 
> Thank you Ana for being the most incredible beta! I truly appreciate you taking so much time out of your day to look this over 💜
> 
> And to my wife, thank you so much for putting up with my incessant typing. I love you so much 💕💕💕

Draco Malfoy’s existence had become monotonous. Each grey day bloomed with the same bleak prospect of misery. Draco’s world had become a black hole of everlasting guilt, regret, and punishment.

On one drizzly afternoon in late November, Draco woke with a start. He blinked through half-open eyelids, attempting to get his bearings. Yes, he was still at the manor. No, The Dark Lord no longer lived there. Yes, Draco was alive.

Alive. That word — that despicable, ugly word — had become a cesspool filled with Draco’s naked thoughts, stripped of all signs of life. Living had seemingly become pointless, and yet there he was. Alive, but not living. That was the dilemma.

Draco could hear his mother pacing downstairs, the sharp sound of her heels clicking against the dark wooden floor. She had begun to pace a lot lately. Perhaps it was the ten years of house arrest she’d been sentenced to. Or, maybe, she was suffering from the same issue as her son. Both had beating hearts, pumping blood throughout their broken veins, and yet neither body held a soul. That was what it felt like, at least.

Draco stretched and sat up, his body groaning with discomfort. He ran his hand through his pale blond hair, pondering the precise moment that he’d become so morose. Perhaps Draco had always been morose, and he had simply failed to notice. Life at Hogwarts had been pleasant — until it wasn’t. Time with his parents had been wonderful —until it wasn’t. And life had seemed enjoyable — until it wasn’t. Yet his heart continued to beat.

One thing that remained constant throughout everything was Draco’s room. It still bore the same pale green damask wallpaper, and his duvet cover was still satin, deep emerald in color. His bed was a large, ornate headboard cut from walnut ash. A large snake, beginning at the headboard, carved its way around the bed, sliding over the four posts and side rails. An unused black velvet chair sat in the corner of the room. His room had been designed for a boy with a future — not an adult built of sadness.

Draco slid out of bed, his feet landing on the cold floor. After making his bed, he took a deep breath. The cold air seeped into his lungs, burning him from the inside.

He padded down the corridor, careful not to make any sounds. If his mother knew he was awake, he’d be forced to keep her amused, both avoiding the fact that his father had been sent to Azkaban. That was a topic that was felt, but never discussed.

After peeing and changing into a pair of slacks and a collared shirt, Draco stared at his reflection. He didn’t use to have hollow bruises underneath his eyes, nor did he have worry lines between his eyebrows. His lips drooped into a slight frown, and his hair seemed to lack even more color than before.

It had been six months since the war had ended and time passed as though it was in a hurry to get somewhere. Draco didn’t know what day it was, nor did he care.

“Draco? Darling?” Narcissa, Draco’s mother, shouted from the bottom of the banister. Draco frowned, taking a deep breath, and dragged himself to the top of the stairs.

“Yes, Mother?” Draco asked

“Why don’t you come sit me? I’ll make you tea and toast,” Narcissa said, pleading with her hysterical eyes.

Draco sighed internally. “Of course, Mother. Thank you.”

Since starting house arrest, Narcissa had insisted on cooking. It gave her something to do, Draco supposed.

He lumbered down the staircase and headed towards the long dining room table. Settling into a chair at the end of the table, Draco closed his eyes. The amount of people — followers — that had been killed, as though it were nothing, at this table was overwhelming. Draco remembered every single soul that had sat at this table, not knowing that they were to be tortured or killed by The Dark Lord. It made him want to vomit.

Draco stared vacantly at the table, tracing patterns in the wood with his eyes. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, popping bread into the toaster. After a few moments, the stark whistle of the kettle caused him to jump. He disliked loud, sudden noises; they made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“Here you go, darling,” Narcissa said, bringing in tea and toast.

He ate in uncomfortable silence.

Draco found that he didn’t have an appetite, but he shoved food down his throat, nonetheless. He hadn’t been hungry in quite some time. The past couple years, it seemed, had disintegrated his stomach. Even the image of a Hogwarts feast no longer appealed to him. Tea was the only consolation; it kept him from shrinking into his fatigued mind. Perhaps it didn’t help him sleep at night, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to get through each day first. Nights were a separate issue.

Each day, when the sun sank below the horizon and the sky turned into a midnight blue, Draco felt fear creeping into his bones. Fear was the only emotion he seemed capable of feeling. It kept him awake, prodding away at his riddled head.

There were specific events that his mind took him back to — being instructed to kill Dumbledore, _Sectumsempra_ , The Dark Lord inhabiting Malfoy Manor, The Dark Lord’s death, his father’s trial, his mother’s trial, and his own. He often turned over in his mind the moment that he thought Potter was dead, although he refused to admit it to himself. He didn’t think about Potter. Ever. The bloody Boy Who Lived was irrelevant.

His mother interrupted his train of thought.

“Draco, what would you like to do today?” Narcissa asked, taking a sip of tea.

“I’m not sure, Mother.”

Draco and Narcissa exchanged tight-lipped smiles.


	2. Chapter 2

At ten o’clock the following morning, the doorbell rang in its loud, demanding tone. Draco was already up — or, rather, he was still up. Despite not sleeping the previous night, crust sat in the corners of his eyes. He sat up, his body feeling weak and fuzzy.

Careful not to bring any awareness to himself, Draco cracked open his bedroom door and slipped into the hallway. Although his main mission had been to pee, he very quickly became distracted.

Over the banister, Draco could see a thin woman standing with his mother in the doorway. Her black hair was pinned back, showing off her angular face that was hiding behind thick glasses.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy. My name is Cressida Jones, and I am your assigned wizard watcher. I will be doing house visits once a week, checking in on your behavior and well-being. May I come in?” Jones asked in a nonsensical tone.

Narcissa’s eyes were wide, and her lips were pursed together. “Of course. Please, come in. May I offer you tea?”

“That would be wonderful. Thank you,” Jones said as she was led to the sitting room. Although she and his mother were out of sight, Draco could still hear them clearly.

“Please have a seat. I will be in shortly,” Narcissa said.

Draco imagined she was feigning one of her charming, warm smiles that always managed to melt anyone around her. Draco had a feeling that this would not work on Ms. Cressida Jones.

Draco hurried to the toilet and back while his mother put on the kettle. He resumed his perch by the banister just as the kettle went off. He could hear his mother’s heels echoing across the wooden floors, heading towards the sitting room.

“Here we are,” Narcissa sighed.

“This looked lovely. Thank you. Are those biscuits homemade?” Jones asked.

Draco knew it was her who had begun to make her cup of tea, as he was able to make out the thick sound of sugar cubes being dropped into a cup. His mother only took milk.

“Yes, they are. I made them this morning,” Narcissa said, making up her cup of tea.

“That’s very impressive. Are you much of a baker, Mrs. Malfoy?” Jones inquired.

Narcissa cleared her throat. “I never was, although I have become quite fond of cooking and baking as of late.”

Draco could hear Jones scratching down notes on parchment.

“I see. And what has prompted this sudden urge to be in the kitchen?” Jones asked.

“In all honesty, it gives me something to do,” Narcissa stated plainly, taking a sip of her tea.

“I understand. How are you faring with being restrained in your house?”

Narcissa sighed. “It’s … Difficult. I have always been a very social person. I never failed to show up to lunch with my girlfriends — even after the war had begun. I enjoyed walking around the shops of Diagon Alley, sampling things from Honeydukes. I miss those things. No one visits, and I can understand why. I haven’t seen my friends in many months.”

“And how is your son, Draco?”

“Draco is suffering on account of me, I suppose. I miss my husband dearly, and I despise being cooped up in the house. I wish I didn’t have to put all of my burdens on him, but I have no one else. He’s such a good boy, though. He takes care of me,” Narcissa said, and Draco frowned.

“How is he recovering from the stripping?”

Draco immediately felt sick. His trial had taken place shortly after his father’s. He hadn’t known what his fate had held, but he'd been sure it was to be grim. He hadn’t been wrong. Draco had been sentenced to a stripping. He'd been brought to St. Mungo's, and it had been there that the procedure had taken place. A witch, whose name Draco hadn’t known, had performed the stripping, crudely gouging the Dark Mark out of his left forearm. It had hurt just as it was supposed to. Crimson blood had pooled everywhere. Draco had let out murderous screams, as no numbing had been used to carve out the deeply embedded magic that the Dark Mark had possessed. Afterwards, he had been left with a mangled forearm, deformed and riddled with thick scars.

“I think he has healed quite well. He never complains of it hurting him, so I’ve come to take that as a good sign,” Narcissa responded.

“That’s good. Now, will you please guide me around the perimeter of your property? I need to reinforce the wards that are to keep you from leaving,” Jones said, standing up.

“Of course. If you’ll follow me this way …” Narcissa began to say, her voice trailing off. Draco could hear his mother leading Jones out the front door, and then he was left to his solemn self.

Draco was too tired to move from his position on the hallway floor. He looked down at his forearm, gently tracing the scars with his right index finger. His mother was incorrect in saying that it no longer bothered him. Pain in his arm was constant, stemming at his wrist and leading all the way up to his shoulder. Draco was convinced that his arm was on fire — he just couldn’t see it.

Draco let out a groan. He stared at his ugly arm, and it seemed to glare back at him. While Draco had once been considered handsome by his peers, he knew he was no longer that. The war had damaged him, leaving him with scars that ranged from his insides to his outsides. There was a translucency to him that there hadn’t been before. In certain lights, Draco found that it was nearly difficult to make out the shape of his depressing form.

Draco stood up, letting out a heavy breath, and went back to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

“Draco, my love, don’t you think you ought to get out of the house at some point?” Narcissa asked Draco from across the dining room table, slapping an ace of spades down on the pile of discarded cards.

Draco frowned, rummaging through his hand. “I’m quite content at home, Mother.”

Narcissa sighed, setting down her cards - a signal that their card game was on temporary hold. “Darling, I’m beginning to worry about you. You haven’t seen Blaise or Pansy in months. The only person you interact with is me, and while I appreciate the company, it would be good for you to see other people.”

“I’m truly fine, Mother. There’s no need to worry about me,” Draco mumbled bitterly, pointedly avoiding the topic of Blaise and Pansy. They hadn’t contacted him since the war, and he had no intention of reaching out.

Narcissa looked at Draco, sadness in her eyes. “Draco, I saw something in the paper the other day. Many kids, such as yourself, are scarred from everything that … Happened. St. Mungo's has opened up a therapy ward. I would urge you to consider going. I think you would greatly benefit.”

Draco abruptly stood up in shock, knocking his chair over. “Excuse me? Therapy? I’m a Malfoy. I don’t need therapy! I don’t need help!”

“I understand, darling, but this is an opportunity that we simply cannot pass up. You have so much to carry, and it hurts my heart to see you this way,” Narcissa said calmly, also standing up.

She walked to Draco, grabbing his hand. He flinched.

“What am I supposed to say, Mother? That I’m damaged? That I’m a liability?” Draco shouted into the empty air.

“Do not shout at me, young man. You are going. I’ll send an owl this evening to request an appointment,” Narcissa said, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Would you please excuse me, Mother? I would like to lie down,” Draco said through gritted teeth.

Narcissa frowned. “Yes, of course. Sleep well, darling.”

With that, Draco bolted upstairs to his room, slamming the door in the process. He collapsed onto his bed, letting out a sob into his duvet. His throat very quickly became raw from the strain of crying, and his eyes stung with fat teardrops.

Help was the last thing Draco wanted. He simply didn’t need it. That, and he wasn’t particularly keen on leaving the comfort of his house. He couldn’t. The world outside was no longer his own. Instead, it belonged to those with hope — those who felt alive.

Draco became angrier the more he thought about his mother’s proposal. She didn’t even take into consideration the fact that no therapist would want to fix him.

After a while, Draco’s sobbs ebbed into soft whimpers, and the icy numbness slowly crept back into his veins. He uncurled himself from the tight ball he had tucked himself into and laid on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. He absently listened to all the things he could hear: his mother pacing, the wind rattling his window, the peacocks chattering at one another. The world didn’t care that Draco had stopped; it kept forward without him. That notion burned his heart.

Draco spent the rest of the afternoon tucked into bed, still wearing slacks and a collared shirt. His sterling silver belt buckle dug into his abdomen, but the pain felt nice. It felt real. Draco would occasionally switch positions, rotating his view on inanimate objects that were bland enough to zone out on. His room was cold. Or, perhaps it was just the anger in his body coming to a stand still, morphing into a solid cage, encircling his worn heart. Draco waited for the night to bring more horrors.

It did.

In his fitful dream, Draco was back in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom. Everything looked the same — nothing out of place — except for when he looked down. There, on the floor, was his dying body. Blood was seeping out of his heaving chest at an alarming rate. Draco ran over to his body, kneeling over it.

Suddenly, Draco could feel that he wasn’t alone. He looked over and saw Potter.

“No, no, no no. No! Malfoy!” Potter murmured frantically, scrambling to get over to Draco’s body.

Potter applied pressure on Draco’s crimson stained chest. He heaved a sob, tucking his head into his chest.

“Fuck!” Potter screamed, the word echoing against the walls of the bathroom. “Don’t leave me! Don’t you fucking dare leave me!”

Draco could see his body’s chest growing tighter, each breath becoming less. After a minute, Draco felt the last breath leave his broken lungs. He was dead.

“Malfoy. Draco … I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it — I swear!” Potter said. He then turned to Draco, giving him a cold look. “You died years ago. That’s why you feel empty.”

Draco sucked in cold air. “Died? What do you mean died?”

“You’re physically here, but your soul isn’t. It died with the war, Draco. Your soul is resting with the Dark Lord’s, destined to be tortured for all eternity,” Potter stated matter of factly, staring vacantly at Draco.

“No. I cannot be with The Dark Lord. It’s not possible. I’m alive! I swear to you I’m alive!” Draco sobbed.

Potter put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “You’re getting what you deserve, Draco. After a life of giving cruelness, you’re receiving it back. It’s justice, and no one can argue with that.”

“What? No. No!” Draco screamed.

Everything went black.

Draco woke up with blood running down his hands. He had scratched his hands raw in his sleep, blood seeping down his skin. He sat up, staring at his hands. Draco watched as dark blood ran down his wrists, slowly slipping onto his duvet. His hands looked like they had been mauled.

Maybe Potter was right — this was what he deserved. Tearing himself apart during his sleep was all Draco was good for.


	4. Chapter 4

_Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy,_

_We are thrilled that your son is interested in our new program. However, I regret to inform you that all contact from here on out must be through him due to confidentiality. Please pass the enclosed letter onto your son._

_Kind regards,_

_B. F. Kelly_

“That was the letter addressed to me. Here’s yours, darling,” Narcissa said to Draco as they swapped letters.

Draco took the sealed letter from Narcissa, gulping. “May I be excused to my room?”

Without waiting for a response, Draco headed towards the staircase. As soon as he reached his bed, he tore the letter open. The parchment was smothered in short, fat letters.

_Mr. Draco L. Malfoy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. My name is Doctor Bea Kelly, and I’m writing in regards to your mother’s inquiry about our program and what we can offer here at St. Mungo's._

_After many years of research in the field of Muggle therapy, magical psychologists, such as myself, have come to the conclusion that therapy would be an incredibly beneficial addition to the wizarding world. This could not have come at a more crucial time, as the war only ended several months ago. Because of this, our therapists are very skilled in suggesting coping skills for post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, anxiety, and grief._

_Regarding therapy, we offer several options: one-on-one therapy, group therapy, or both. You would be assigned a potions master, and they would brew customized prescriptions for you. Many of our patients have found that a combination of therapy and potions is key to succeeding._

_If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to write. I’d be happy to answer anything. I hope to hear from you soon._

_Kind regards,_

_B. F. Kelly_

Draco read the letter twice. It seemed too simple. And, yet, he found himself wandering over to his desk, pulling out parchment and quill to write a response.

_Doctor Kelly,_

_Hello. Thank you for taking the time to write in response to my mother’s inquiry and answer any of my questions._

_It was very interesting to learn that St. Mungo's has opened a therapy ward. I imagine it’s very popular. What does a typical therapy session consist of? I’m afraid I don’t know very much about therapy or psychology. I think I would appreciate more information about the general focus of therapy and what it includes. Does therapy genuinely work?_

_I’m afraid that I’m quite hesitant about this, as I don’t know if a therapist would be willing to see me. As you can imagine, I’m not a very popular person at the moment. I do not wish to put anyone in an awkward or uncomfortable situation, and I understand if I do not qualify to receive treatment._

_Thank you,_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

After waiting for the ink to dry, Draco folded the piece of parchment, stuffed it inside a cream envelope, and sent it off with the owl that had dropped off Kelly’s letter. Before long, the bird returned with another response.

_Mr. Draco L. Malfoy,_

_I understand your hesitation. Therapy is a scary thing for everyone, let alone someone in your position. What you are feeling is normal and valid._

_As far as therapy sessions go, each one differs. Some patients prefer to simply talk, and others are there to strictly learn skills to improve their reactions to triggers, memories, feelings, and so forth. Each of our therapists has a different technique and/or approach to their practice, so that also affects the content of the session. By completing an intake sheet (attached), we will be able to match you up with the therapist most capable of meeting your needs. If you’re more interested in group therapy, then we would assign you to one appropriate. None of our therapists will discriminate against you — that, I can promise. As therapists, it is our role to put aside our personal feelings and focus solely on your healing and well-being. Your past is irrelevant to the quality of care that you will receive._

_In regards to your question on if therapy works or not, I can tell you with certainty that it does. Therapy is hard work, and it is, on many days, a challenge to get through. With the right motivation and commitment, patients tend to exceed in learning how to cope with their battles. Therapy is not something that you will automatically need for the rest of your life. There are many patients who leave after feeling that they’ve accomplished what they came for._

_If you have any more questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me._

_Kind regards,_

_B. F. Kelly_

After scribbling a quick thank you, Draco sighed, rifling through the envelope to find the intake form. From what he could tell, the form seemed to consist of general questions. He went through it, making sure to fill out each section carefully.

_St. Mungo's Center for Therapy and Psychology_

_Please PRINT your full name: **DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY**_

_Date of birth: **5th of June, 1980**_

_Floo Address: **The Malfoy Manor**_

_What do you hope to get out of therapy? **I hope to feel better.**_

_Please check all that apply:_

_☑️ Fatigue_

_☑️ Hopelessness_

_☑️ Depressed Mood_

_☑️ Loss of interest_

_☑️ Irregular sleeping pattern_

_☐ Anxiety attacks_

_☑️ Crying spells_

_☑️ Avoidance_

_☐ Impulsivity_

_☑️ Loss of appetite_

_☐ Increase in appetite_

_☑️ Easily lost train of thought_

_☑️ Invasive thoughts_

_☐ Paranoia_

_☑️ Numbness_

_☑️ Hyperactive memory_

_☐ Loss of memory_

_☑️ Flashbacks_

_☑️ Irritability_

_☑️ Anger_

_☐ Hallucinations_

_Have you ever had feelings or wants of not wanting to live? ( ) YES ( **x** ) NO _

_Do you currently have a feeling of not wanting to live? ( ) YES ( **x** ) NO _

_Have you ever harmed yourself on purpose? ( ) YES ( **x** ) NO _

_Do you currently harm yourself on purpose? ( ) YES ( **x** ) NO _

Draco signed his name at the bottom of the page and sealed it, along with his response, in an envelope. As the owl flew off into the pale afternoon light, Draco sat on his bed, hoping to Merlin that he was making the right choice.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco stared at the Floo in the sitting room, his mother standing directly behind him. The fireplace was made of obsidian, and Draco could see the reflection of his worried face on the rock’s surface.

Draco looked more put together than he had in quite a while. His short, white blond hair, which now had a tint of ash to it, was parted neatly to the side. His crisp, white, collared shirt was tucked into navy blue slacks and sat under a navy blue blazer. Draco had even put on his watch made of pure gold, gifted to him by his mother a few years back. The face of the watch had a moving picture of the galaxy, the hands dancing around clusters of twinkling stars.

Narcissa stepped closer to Draco, putting a cold hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this, darling,” Narcissa said softly.

Draco gulped. “Of course, Mother.”

“Your appointment is at two, correct?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Narcissa stepped out from behind Draco, giving him a hug. “I know you don’t want to do this, but it will be so good for you. Everyone is raving about the therapy ward. I wonder if you’ll see any of your friends there.”

Draco pulled away from her, suddenly feeling even more uncomfortable than before. “I should get going, Mother.”

“Of course, love. Have a wonderful time,” she said, a sad smile on her lips.

With that, Draco stepped into the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo powder. He was engulfed in green flames for only a few short moments, and then he stepped out of the sleek fireplace in the Floo department at St. Mungo's. The hallway ahead, lined with six fireplaces on each side, was blistering cold. Draco headed towards the sound of voices around the corner, the echo of his footsteps beating loudly in his ears.

As Draco rounded the dark corridor, he was met with what seemed to be a waiting room. A sign that read “Therapy Ward” hung above what was, presumably, the front desk. A squat woman with greying hair looked up at him lazily.

“May I help you?” the witch asked in a dull voice.

Draco cleared his throat. “Hello. I have an appointment, but I’m not sure who it’s with. My name is Draco Malfoy.”

“Date of birth?” she inquired, picking something out of her teeth.

“Fifth of June, 1980,” Draco responded, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

The witch looked at him, pursing her lips. “Your therapist will be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”

Draco muttered a quick thank you and scurried to a chair. He busied himself by watching the other people in the waiting room. There was a woman, not much older than him, sitting to his left. She caught Draco staring and gave him a small smile. Draco blushed and looked away.

To his right was a man, who must have been in his fifties, tying and untying his shoe laces with his wand over and over again. Draco shook his head in confusion and went back to paying attention to his nerves.

Several minutes later, a tall woman walked into the waiting room. Her dark green, well-tailored suit sat beautifully against her umber skin, the fabric perfectly hugging her rounded hips and stomach. Long braids, pulled back into a ponytail, dipped past her elbows. She looked far too put together to be a patient.

“Mr. Malfoy?” the woman called out.

It took Draco a moment to realize she was talking to him. Abruptly, he stood up.

“Hello,” Draco said, sticking out his bony hand.

The woman’s plump fingers met his. “Hi, Mr. Malfoy. I’m Bea Kelly, the person you’ve been corresponding with. With much consideration, it was decided that you would be best suited for my approach to therapy. Let’s head to my office,” Bea explained, giving Draco a warm smile.

He followed Bea down another hallway, and then they turned into a corner office. It was a large enough office, softly lit by the pale afternoon light streaming through the spacious windows. A couch sat against the far wall, and a plush chair sat opposite it. Bea walked towards the chair, gesturing for Draco to sit on the couch. He tip-toed over, sitting on the middle cushion.

“May I call you Draco?” Bea asked, pulling out a Quick-Quotes Quill and pad of parchment.

“Of course,” Draco said through a tightly set jaw. His nerves were on edge, but it was a nice feeling. It felt tangible, as though he could reach out and cling to his nervousness for comfort in a body drained of emotion.

“Wonderful. Now, Draco, I think we should start with why you’re here,” Bea suggested, adjusting her square glasses.

Draco looked down at the carpet, fidgeting with a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. “Oh. Well, it was my mother’s idea.”

“And why did you agree to it?” Bea immediately asked.

“No one says no to Narcissa Malfoy.”

Bea pursed her lips. “I see.”

Draco shrugged.

“And what psychosomatic symptoms have you been experiencing?” Bea asked.

Frustration welled up inside the pit of Draco’s stomach. “Didn’t I tell you this on my intake? Why do you need me to tell you again? Do you want to make a fool out of me? Make me admit how weak I am?”

Draco’s words hung in the air. Despite him snapping, Bea looked as neutral as ever. Draco huffed.

Bea shifted in her seat before saying, “Draco, I have no intention of embarrassing you. I understand that this situation must be very frustrating, as it was not you who sought therapy out. I do not expect you to trust me fully at the beginning. That would be unreasonable. If I ever say or do anything that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know.”

Well, that was certainly not the reaction Draco was expecting. He didn’t know how to rebound, too proud to admit that he had blown his top.

“Shall we move on, then?” Bea asked, and Draco nodded enthusiastically.

The rest of the session, which flew by, was spent discussing confidentiality, rules, and what Draco could expect from therapy. When the clock hit three o’clock, Bea stood up, and Draco did too. She walked him to the door.

Bea said, “to confirm, we are set for next Tuesday at the same time. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Thank you for coming, Draco. I look forward to our journey together,” Bea said with a grin, opening the office door.

They bid their farewells, and then Draco walked back down the hall. When he reached the waiting room, his heart stopped.

There, sitting on a chair in the corner of the room, was Harry Potter.


	6. Chapter 6

All color drained from Draco’s already pale face, and his mouth disappeared into a fine line. He looked at Potter. Potter looked at him.

Potter looked different from the last time Draco saw him. His hair was cropped shorter, small black curls falling in an unruly way around his face. He was skinnier, if that was even possible, and his eyes had a sad dullness to them. Draco couldn’t help but think that Potter looked similar to himself.

At the same time, a flood of memories came roaring into Draco’s mind, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Over the past months, Draco had really preferred to not think about Potter. And, yet, there he was. Potter always seemed to pop up at the most inconvenient of times.

Draco didn’t know what to do, as he was sure Potter hated him. He didn’t blame him.

Before Potter could do anything, Draco quickly exited the waiting room and rushed towards the hallway filled with Floos. He could feel his heartbeat everywhere, and droplets of sweat beaded near his temples.

Draco threw the Floo powder down faster than he ever had. Once landing back at the Manor, Draco took a step into his house and inhaled. He heard the clacking of his mother’s heels.

“Darling! How did it go?” Narcissa greeted Draco, pulling him into an uncomfortable hug. Draco wiggled out of it.

“Fine. Yeah. It was good, Mother. I need to go take a nap. I’ll see you at dinner,” Draco murmured.

Without waiting for a response, he migrated to his room and closed the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed on his bed. Draco stared at the ceiling, his hands resting on his heaving stomach. His mind turned over at a hundred miles an hour, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

He could remember what he felt after Potter rejected his friendship in first year with alarming accuracy. Draco recalled the sensation of his cheeks burning, and he had felt like throwing up. The sheer embarrassment he had felt was incomparable to anything else.

Draco opened his pale eyes, a single tear running down his cheek. He, in all honesty, didn’t know what he was feeling. His mind was a bit muddled, and all he could think about was the rejection his younger self had faced.

Then there was the whole _Sectumsempra_ situation. He knew he was kidding himself when saying it hadn’t affected him. He checked every bathroom he walked into, even if it was the ones at home. He would whip back the shower curtains, making sure there was no one there, and then set protective wards. Going to the bathroom had become a very tedious process. Maybe that was something to talk to Bea about. Thinking about it made his skin crawl, and panic rose in his chest.

An emptiness settled into Draco’s body. The next thing he knew, it was nighttime.

Draco turned to face the clock sitting on his side table. Seven o’clock. Draco was confused. He hadn’t slept. He knew that. And yet, for some reason, he couldn’t remember the last four hours. His head hurt, and his eyes were puffy from crying. He didn’t remember that, either. Draco swallowed hard, and it felt as though his throat was raw.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Draco said to no one in particular.

He really wasn’t in the mood to go downstairs for dinner. He didn’t want to eat, nor did he want to see his mother. All he wanted was to be left alone to ruminate. Draco could hear the banging of dishes coming from the kitchen, and he knew he had limited time left alone.

Draco’s mind turned to his friends. He wondered what they were doing, Pansy and Blaise. He hadn’t talked to them since the war ended, and, in many ways, he didn’t know if it was intentional or not. Things had been odd at the end.

The last time he saw Pansy and Blaise was on the 15th of May. They had come over to the Manor, pretending that everything was fine. Normal. It was then that Draco realized being a Pureblood meant sweeping things under the rug.

That day had been full of rain. Draco remembered laying on his bed, just as he was now, while Pansy had sat on the edge of the bed and Blaise had sat on the chair at his desk. Grey light had streamed into the room, catching the circles under Blaise’s eyes and the cut on Pansy’s cheek.

“What are your plans for the summer?” Blaise had asked, absently spinning in the chair.

“I don’t think I’m doing anything,” was all Draco had said.

He could still hear Pansy feigning laughter as she'd joked with Blaise, just as they had a few months prior. The thing was, everything had been different.

Draco shook his head, loosening the memory from his grasp.

“Darling? Dinner is ready!” Narcissa called up to Draco.

He groaned. “I’ll be right there, Mother!”

Draco took a deep breath before sitting up, his bones aching and his head pounding. He let the dizziness settle before standing up. He looked in the full-length mirror on the back of his bedroom door, attempting to straighten out the wrinkles in his collared shirt and navy trousers. He sighed.

Downstairs, Draco was met with the smell of food, and it made him nauseous. Still, he found his way towards the table and sat down with a thump.

Narcissa gave him a kiss on the cheek and served him before sitting down. Draco noticed how tired she looked, but he wasn't bothered to ask her how she was.

“So, darling, tell me all about the therapy ward!” Narcissa said, putting a bit too much enthusiasm into her words.

“Uh … well … It was nice, I suppose. It looked new. And my therapist was nice. Her name is Bea,” Draco said softly, poking at his dinner.

“That’s wonderful! Do you think therapy is going to be helpful for you?” Narcissa asked.

“I think so, Mother.”

“Excellent! Oh, darling, I’m so glad you had a nice time. Did you see anyone you know?”

Draco froze, unsure of what to say.

“Um … No?”

Narcissa pursed her lips, but she left the subject alone.

All through dinner, the only thing Draco could think about was Potter’s sad eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicide

Potter’s eyes continued to confuse Draco for the following week. The first thing they made him think of was the night of the battle. The lights had gone out in the castle as it burned, just like in Potter’s eyes.

The second thing Draco felt was that of comfort, perhaps in seeing his own feelings reflected in someone else. Even if that person was Harry Potter.

The only thing consoling Draco was knowing that he was going to see Bea the following afternoon, as it was Monday evening. The past week had been exceptionally dull, and he longed to have it start anew. Despite having only met Bea once, he did enjoy talking with her. He liked that she didn’t take his shit.

A small part of Draco hoped that he would see Potter tomorrow. However, a larger part of him resented the fact that Potter was also going to the therapy ward. It was supposed to be Draco’s place to get better. Not his.

Dinner was, as usual, awkward and depressing. His mother looked exhausted. Her hair was pulled back in an unorganized bun and dark circles rested under her makeup-free eyes.

“Are you alright, Mother?” Draco mustered up the energy to ask.

Narcissa looked up from her uneaten plate of food and gave him a weathered smile. “Yes, darling. I’m alright. Just missing your father a lot today.”

Draco expected to feel something when she said that, but he didn’t. Instead, the emptiness continued.

“I miss him, too. What about today is making it harder?” Draco asked, not sure why he was making an effort in the conversation.

“Oh, I don’t know. Nothing in particular, I suppose. Your father is my best friend, and I miss having his companionship. It’s hard that we can’t even exchange letters. I don’t know how your father feels about the whole … Situation … But I do regret some of the decisions we made regarding The Dark Lord. I think things would have been much different — better, even — for you if he hadn’t lived here. You saw too much, Draco, and that’s something I’ll never be able to forgive myself for,” Narcissa explained, tearing at one of her nail beds.

Draco didn’t know quite what to say to that. This was the most he had talked with his mother in a long time. A year, maybe. Sure, they had conversations, but they were much more one-sided.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” was all Draco could think to say.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, darling. Finish your dinner.”

Later that night, Draco was feeling the absence of sleep. He felt fatigue in every bone, joint, and ligament holding his poor, broken body together, and yet his mind couldn’t stop turning.

Draco thought about the stripping, his mangled left arm resting on his stomach. He could still remember how deep the pain ran when they'd gouged out the Dark magic that had rUn in his veins from the Dark Mark. Right before he'd been escorted to St. Mungo's for the procedure, his mother had reassured him that it was going to be alright. Look how that turned out.

He told himself he didn’t care that his left inner forearm was mangled, clumps of lumpy scar tissue sitting in clusters underneath his scorched skin, but he knew that was a lie. He did care. He always would.

Draco slipped into sleep around three o’clock, darkness swallowing him whole.

The following morning, Draco couldn’t hear his mother. He crept downstairs, checking first in the kitchen and then in the sitting room. She was nowhere to be found. Panic started to build in Draco’s chest, as he raced upstairs. Once he got to the landing, he slowed down, padding softly to his mother’s room. He had a feeling.

Pushing the door open, he could see his mother was still in bed. He walked over to her bedside and immediately realized that something was wrong. All of the medical potions next to her bed were empty. Her glassy eyes were open, staring at nothing, old tears staining her pale cheeks. He could see that her chest wasn’t rising and falling.

Everything drained from Draco’s body, and he collapsed onto his mother. Her body was cold. Draco let out a blood-curdling scream. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, screaming, but by the end, his throat was raw.

Petting his mother’s hair, Draco whispered, “why did you go, Mother? Things were okay, weren’t they?”

He waited for her to respond, and then he remembered that she couldn’t.

Draco stood up, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his pajama top. He realized that she had left a note on her chest, which he had crumpled when he'd collapsed on her. He began reading it, his eyes tracing over her elegant handwriting.

_My darling Draco,_

_Please know that none of this is your fault. I’m sorry to be leaving you like this, but I can’t bear it any more. I haven’t felt alive in years, darling. I have simply been taking up space. Please know that this was not a spur of the moment decision. I've been thinking of nothing but this since being sentenced to house arrest._

_I miss your father more than I can say. It’s too hard without him. But, the main reason I’m doing this is to give you a better chance at a happy life, darling. No matter how much it hurts, knowing that you won’t have your father’s or my reputation hanging over your head reassures me. This is your chance to move on, nothing holding you back. Heal, Draco. I will always be with you, holding your hand. This is not me leaving you. This is simply my own way of moving on._

_I love you more than you could ever know._

_Take care, darling._

_Mother xxx_

Draco heard a roaring in his ears, his hands shaking. Not knowing what to do, he went downstairs to flip through the Floo address book. He found the address for the Auror Department, threw the powder down, and stepped into the green flames, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still in his pajamas.

Draco stepped out of the Floo and into a large, bright room, appearing to be the lobby. He walked to what seemed to be the reception desk. A scrawny man with a bald head, his name tag reading “Jim,” looked up at him.

“Good morning, Sir. How can I help you today?” Jim asked.

Draco felt his heartbeat everywhere. “My mother just killed herself.”


	8. Chapter 8

One month had passed since Narcissa Malfoy killed herself. Draco didn’t know this, however, as he wouldn’t get out of bed. The only time he left his room was to obtain food, but that was once in a blue moon. He had lost twelve pounds since his mother died.

Draco spent most of his time remembering what happened after she died. A pair of Aurors had come to his house, confirmed that Narcissa had killed herself, and had taken her body away. Draco had declined having a funeral. His mother would have wanted to go quietly.

It was on a startlingly cold Monday night that Malfoy received a letter. He sat perched on his bed and stared at it, trying to muster up the energy to open it. Finally he did, recognizing Bea’s handwriting.

_Draco,_

_I am reaching out to you in regards to your mother’s death. I understand why you’ve been missing your sessions, and you’re not in trouble for that. I am simply suggesting that it would, perhaps, be beneficial to come into the ward tomorrow afternoon at our usual time. I have continued to keep your time slot open in the hopes that you do return so we can process everything together._

_I am so very sorry for your loss, Draco._

_Best,_

_Bea_

Draco stared at the letter, stunned. He had completely forgotten about Bea and therapy. No matter how angry he was at his mother, she would’ve wanted him to go.

Draco slowly stood up, his bones protesting from lack of use, and walked over to his desk. Sitting down, he pulled out parchment from a desk drawer, an ink pot, and a quill.

_Bea,_

_I will be there._

_Draco_

The night passed in a blur of sleep and nightmares. Nothing unusual. Draco woke up at one the following afternoon.

Realizing that he was running behind on time, Draco crawled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, the cold wooden floors burning his feet. For the first time in a month, he looked in the mirror, soaking in his own reflection.

He had grown skinnier. Much skinnier. And that was saying something. His cheeks were hollow, and he could see his ribs poking out of his chest, protecting his pierced lungs and broken heart. The shadows under his eyes were as black as midnight, and his eyes were no longer sterling but a dull grey.

Finally, he broke eye contact with himself and relieved his bladder. He couldn’t remember the last time he showered, but he didn’t have the time, nor energy, to. A heavy spray of cologne and a good _Scourgify_ on his hair would have to do.

Scurrying back to his room, Draco pulled out a pair of black trousers, a maroon sweater, and his favorite pair of oxfords. Everything, bar the shoes, was too big on him, hanging loosely from his weathered frame.

Coming to peace with looking like a mess, Draco went downstairs. The quietness that echoed through the house still rattled him. It was too quiet. He expected to hear his mother’s heels clicking across the wooden floor any second. The realization that the noise wouldn’t come hit him like a train.

He walked into the sitting room and stared at the obsidian fireplace. The last time he had gone to therapy, his mother had sent him off. Now it was just him.

After Flooing to the therapy ward and checking in with the same grumpy witch, Draco took a seat in the waiting room. The man and woman from last time were there in the waiting room. They must have had standing appointments at the same time.

Bea came out in a periwinkle-colored pantsuit and her hair was no longer in braids. Instead, it fell in tight curls around her face. She smiled at him.

“Hello, Draco. Why don’t you come on back,” Bea said, gesturing for Draco to follow her.

The office looked the same. He sat on the couch, and Bea sat in her chair.

“So, Draco, what would you like to talk about today?” Bea asked, crossing her legs.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Alright. We’re going to take this slow, and it might take a very long time to get through everything. How about I ask you some specific questions? Those will be easier to answer than open-ended questions. Please let me know if any question I ask makes you uncomfortable.”

Draco nodded.

“What emotions have you been feeling over the past month?” Bea asked.

Draco thought for a moment, reflecting on what little he could remember of the last month, before answering, “anger and sadness, I guess.”

Bea nodded, writing this down on her pad of parchment. “I see. Let’s talk about the anger first. Where do you feel it in your body?”

“My chest.”

“And what does it feel like in your chest? What qualities does this anger have?”

Draco furrowed his brow, trying to take in what the anger felt like. “It’s heavy. And hot. I feel like my chest is being crushed.”

“And why are you angry? You don’t have to think of all the reasons right now. Just list the main ideas that pop into your head,” Bea said, waiting for Draco to answer.

“I guess I’m angry that my mother killed herself. She said in her letter that this wasn’t her leaving me, but she was wrong. She did leave me. I’m alone now in that big fucking house. I’m angry that she felt like she needed to die for me to move on with my life, or whatever the fuck she meant. And I’m really pissed off that my friends haven’t written to me. They knew my mother well, and they didn’t even have the decency to write a letter saying they’re sorry. No one has written to me. Besides you, of course. I guess no one cares that Mother is dead,” Draco said.

“That’s absolutely understandable and I think your anger is very valid. In my experience, people often feel anger in response to a loved one dying. Something you said caught my attention, though. You said that you’re living in your large house alone?” Bea asked.

Draco nodded.

Bea pursed her lips, thinking. “I have a suggestion for you, Draco. It might seem radical at first, but I think it might help you to heal and move forward. What would you think of moving into a flat? It would be much smaller, and there wouldn’t be any memories there to haunt you.”

“I … well … How do I just leave my home?” Draco stammered, shocked.

“I’m not saying to do it right away, Draco. It’s just something to consider in the near future for your health. If you decide it would be beneficial, I would help you through the process,” Bea explained.

“I want to do it,” Draco blurted.

“You want to do it?”

“I want to do it.”

“Alright. And what is your thinking behind the decision?” Bea asked.

Draco sighed. “Well, I think you’re right in that I’m stuck in the memories of the house. All I’ve been able to think about is finding Mother’s body and when it was taken away. I have a very generous inheritance, so I could get a flat anywhere.”

“Very sound reasoning,” Bea concluded.

“How do I go about selling the house and then finding a flat?”

“Well, you would first need a realtor to sell your house. They would also help you find a flat. Between now and our next appointment, I could ask my colleagues if they have any good realtor recommendations,” Bea suggested.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Draco. Now, I’d like to switch back to your mother, again.”

Draco spent the rest of the session describing what it was like to find his mother’s body, choking out his memories through embarrassing tears. He wiped them away quickly, and Bea pretended not to see them.

“Okay, Draco. I see that our time is up for today. Will I be seeing you next week?” Bea asked, standing up.

“Yes,” Draco said.

Bea led Draco to the door and smiled at him as he left.

Completely consumed with what had just happened, Draco had all but forgotten about Potter and the fact that he could potentially be there in the waiting room. Which, of course, he was. Draco was about to use the strategy he'd used last time of running away, but Potter stood up and walked over to him too quickly for him to do so.

“Malfoy, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to hear about Narcissa. She was a kind woman,” Potter said.

It was strange hearing the familiar sound of Potter’s voice for the first time in months. It reminded Draco of being in school again, exchanging insults. He didn’t quite know what Potter was playing at or why he was even talking to him.

“Thanks,” was all he could say, as he suddenly remembered that he probably looked as though he had been crying.

“If you, um, need anything, please let me know,” Potter said, clasping Draco’s shoulder.

Flinching and pulling away, Draco said, “thank you, Potter.”

Draco then turned and walked away, thinking of going back to his empty house.


	9. Chapter 9

The following week found Draco on the middle cushion of the couch in Bea’s office, waiting for her to finish getting herself a cup of tea before starting their session.

She walked in, her wide hips swaying underneath her ruby trousers. Draco was always astounded at how tall she was. After sitting in her chair, Bea took a sip of her tea and sighed, putting the cup down on the small table next to her.

“How are you, Draco?” Bea asked, dipping her quill in ink.

“Fine, I guess,” Draco said.

“How has your anger been this past week?” she asked earnestly.

Draco pursed his lips, thinking. “Same, probably.”

“Mhm,” Bea said, “and I have a question I didn’t get around to asking you last week. Have you been in your mother’s room since she passed away?”

All color drained from Draco’s face. “Um, no. I haven’t.”

“Perfectly understandable. What stops you from going in there?” Bea asked.

“I guess I don’t want to deal with seeing it.”

Bea pushed up her glasses. “And what is ‘it’?”

“I guess,” Draco sighed, “I just meant everything, where she died, seeing her personal items, stuff like that. I don’t know.”

“What does the thought of going into her room make you feel?”

“Scared,” Draco said after a moment of hesitation.

“I imagine it would be very scary to think about. After my mum died, I refused to go into her house,” Bea said, giving Draco a sad smile.

He was shocked at the small bit of personal information Bea had shared.

“Oh. Um … I’m sorry,” Draco said awkwardly.

“Please don’t be. It was a long time ago. I just shared that to let you know that you’re not alone in what you’re experiencing and the reactions you’re having to the circumstances.”

“Are nightmares normal?” Draco asked.

Bea smiled at the question. “Very. I would be surprised if you weren’t having any nightmares. Are there a few main ones that repeat themselves, or do they constantly change?”

“A mixture of both I think. Lately, I’ve been dreaming a lot about my mother being alive. It hurts to wake up from that,” Draco whispered.

“I see. Well, this is something we can work on. I’m going to send you a letter this evening enchanted with a recording of a meditation. Your homework is to listen and follow it every night before bed for the next week. Then, report your findings back to me,” Bea instructed.

“Aren’t meditations a Muggle thing?” Draco asked, confused.

“They are, but through research it has been proven to be helpful for Muggles and wizards alike. There’s something very healing about it,” Bea explained.

“Oh.”

“Before we wrap up our session, I’d like to give you the list of magical realtors,” Bea handed Draco a piece of parchment with writing on it, “including those that my colleagues have used. Caroline Beck comes highly recommended, as does Tom Baldwin. I’ve included their Floo addresses so you can pop in and make an appointment with anyone you choose.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, his heart beating quickly from both nerves and excitement.

“My pleasure. Also, before I forget, I’d like you to consider one more thing for me. I run a group therapy on Friday nights for those who are dealing with mental health issues after the war. Would that be something you’re interested in?” Bea asked, looking hopeful.

Group therapy. Did Draco really need group therapy? That was just one more thing to do. He was already leaving the house once a week.

“Who’s in it?” Draco asked.

“I wish I could tell you, but I can’t disclose that information. However, I can say that you would be the fourth member. What do you think about it?”

Draco frowned. “I’m not really sure. Would I have to talk about personal stuff in front of other people?”

“Not necessarily. You could simply listen. I might ask you a question every once in a while, but you are certainly not obligated to talk,” Bea said.

“What time is it at?”

Grinning, Bea said, “six o’clock.”

“I’ll be there,” Draco promised hesitantly.

They said their goodbyes, and Draco walked into the waiting room. There, as usual, was Harry bloody Potter. He looked up and made eye contact with Draco, offering a minuscule smile.

Draco, confused and embarrassed, walked away.

The rest of the evening was spent researching the list of realtors and then making an appointment with Caroline Beck for the following morning at ten o’clock.

Pleased with himself, Draco sat down at his desk. He pulled out parchment and his writing utensils, drafting a list of the things he needed to go through before moving.

_⚪ Old textbooks_

_⚪ School uniform_

_⚪ My hideous hoard of letters from Pansy and Blaise_

_⚪ Everyday clothing_

_⚪ Bedroom bookshelf_

_⚪ Bookshelf in Father’s study_

_⚪ ~~Mother’s clothes~~_

_⚪ ~~Photo albums~~_

_⚪ ~~Mother’s perfume~~_

_⚪ Father’s clothing_

_⚪ The bloody portraits in the dining room_

_⚪ ~~Letters from Mother and Father~~_

Content with the list for now, Draco left it on his desk. He wasn’t going to linger on it anymore that evening. That could afford to be put off for a little while.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco used the Floo to show up at Caroline Beck’s office at 9:55. He was told by the witch at the front desk to take a seat, which he did.

After a few minutes, a middle-aged woman with a silver pixie cut and bright red glasses came out and introduced herself to Draco as Caroline Beck. She led him to the back part of the office, which held a desk, three chairs, and a shameful amount of filing cabinets. Caroline took a seat, and so did he.

“So, Mr. Malfoy, I understand you’re in the market for a flat?” Caroline asked in a raspy, enthusiastic voice.

“Uh, yes,” Draco said nervously. “Right. Are you looking to rent or buy? Plenty of options for both,” Caroline said, blinking at Draco.

He fidgeted with a loose thread on his blazer sleeve. “Renting, probably.”

“Righty-o. And what are the qualities that make up your vision of a perfect flat?” Caroline asked.

Draco sighed. “I want it to be big enough to be able to walk around, but I want it small enough to not feel lonely. Other than that, I really don’t care.”

“I understand, chicken. My first flat was so small that I couldn’t breathe,” Caroline wheezed with laughter, wiping a tear from her eye. “But that’s besides the point! Ideal location?”

“London.”

“London. Right. Well, Mr. Malfoy, a few locations have popped into my head. You up for an adventure?” Caroline asked, standing up.

“Um, sure?” Draco said hesitantly.

“Grab my arm then, chicken. Hold on tight!” Caroline yelled as they Apparated.

The odd pair landed in front of a lovely brick building with elegant ivy crawling above the front door. Draco felt like he needed to vomit his organs out. Caroline patiently waited to explode with enthusiasm until he could swallow his nausea enough to stand up straight.

“So, first impression?” Caroline asked, grinning widely.

“It’s uh, it’s nice,” Draco said, giving the building a once-over.

“It’s even nicer inside. Follow me, chicken! To the third floor!” Caroline said, marching up the front steps and pushing the front door open.

Once they reached the third story, Caroline stopped in front of the front door of a corner flat.

“Ready?” she asked.

Draco nodded, and Caroline unlocked the door.

Caroline was right; inside was even better. The first thing Draco noticed when walking in was the sheer amount of natural light streaming through the large window in the living room. To his left was a small kitchen with a new-ish stove, a mediocre oven, and old cabinets.

“I’m going to let you have a little look around, chicken! I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” Caroline said, winking, before letting herself out the door.

Draco was relieved to be left alone to his own devices. He decided to come back to the kitchen later, eager to look at the rest of the flat.

The living room was opposite the entryway. The walls were white, and generic prints hung about them in no particular pattern. A fireplace sat in the middle of the wall opposite the dark purple couch. The natural light made the room look bigger than it was, but it certainly wasn’t too big.

To the left of the living room was a bedroom and bathroom opposite each other. Draco went into the bedroom first. It was, not surprisingly, nice looking. A four-postered bed sat in the middle of the far wall. The room was painted a light grey, and a large wardrobe stood in the left corner.

Pleased, Draco moved onto the bathroom. The shower, he had to admit, was fairly small, and the sink wasn’t in the best condition. But, overall, it certainly met his expectations.

After taking one last look at the kitchen, Draco walked out of the flat and was met with Caroline, who looked as though she was going to burst from excitement.

“So? What did you think, chicken?” she asked.

“I’ll take it,” Draco said.

Caroline gave him a confused look. “You’ll take it? But we haven’t even looked at the other places yet!”

Draco smiled. “I don’t have to. I’ve found my new home.”

After signing some paperwork back at Caroline’s office, she informed Draco that it would be ready for him to move into the following Monday. This both frightened and excited him. He only had the rest of Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to pack everything up.

He and Caroline talked at length about the process of selling Malfoy Manor. She informed him that it might take some time, especially with everything that “transpired” there, but she was sure she could sell it. Draco agreed, and Caroline said she would start working on it right away.

By Friday morning, Draco had packed up everything he wanted to move to the flat. His progress wasn’t very useful, however, as he still had to figure out where to put a house full of antiques, items with Dark magic, and miscellaneous objects that Draco could not even begin to guess at what they were.

As Draco stood in the sitting room with his hands on his hips and sweat dripping from his forehead, glaring at the stacks of boxes he had packed, he realized that he was going to be leaving behind everything he knew. He had grown up in the manor. Hell, his earliest memories were of him playing in his room. A pang of regret started to hum in his chest as he slid to the ground, panting.

Draco took a moment to remind himself why he made the choice to leave. Around every corner were the ghosts of his parents, as well as happier times. The old bones of the Manor seemed to give the impression that they were caving in, defeated of their purpose. The Manor was still his house, but it was no longer his home. All value had left when his father had been arrested and his mother had killed herself.

He eventually got up and continued to sort through things until four o’clock rolled around. It was then that he stopped for the day, going upstairs to take a shower, making sure to check behind the shower curtain before warding the door.

The shower was well needed. Draco tried to picture the hot water melting away everything bad in his life, and this, ironically, caused him to start dwelling on the bad things: his father, his mother, his friends, the nightmares, the lack of motivation and appetite, the loneliness. Before Draco knew it, he was crying tears as hot as the water coming out of the showerhead. They stung his dry eyes, dripping down his face and disappearing into the stream of water flowing onto Draco’s body. He stayed there for a long while, screaming into the quietness of the early evening.

After composing himself, Draco padded to his bedroom, leaving a trail of water droplets behind him. He collapsed onto the bed, mentally going through his wardrobe in an effort to decide what to wear to group therapy that evening. Surely it wouldn’t be something he would have to look nice for. He could probably get away with a jumper and trousers.

Draco picked out his favorite jumper, a steel grey one, and paired it with navy blue trousers. After, he combed his short blond hair and sprayed himself with French cologne.

By the time he finished, it was nearly 5:30. Draco decided that it was better to be early than late, so he Flooed to St. Mungo's with thirty minutes to spare.

He sat in the empty waiting room, anxious to see who else would appear. At 5:40, a girl, who Draco recognized as being a few years older than him at Hogwarts, walked in and sat on the opposite side of the waiting room. They sat in awkward silence, both looking at the ground. It wasn’t until 5:55 that the last two members walked in. One was a boy at least five years older, and the other one was ... Potter?


	11. Chapter 11

Draco did everything he could to avoid Potter’s eye contact. He could feel the heat of his stare boring down on him as they sat silently in the waiting room. Thankfully, Bea called them back soon enough.

The odd group of young adults followed Bea back to her office, which had been rearranged. The couch was the same, but Bea’s chair was pushed back to give another two other chairs some room. Draco made a beeline for the couch, as did the man. Potter and the woman Draco vaguely recognized sat on the chairs.

“Alright, everyone, settled in?” Bea asked, assuming her usual position of crossing her legs. However, she was missing her usual parchment and quill for note taking.

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Bea beamed. “Wonderful. Well, welcome to Group! My name is Bea Kelly and I’m the leader of this group. We’ll be focusing mainly on the war, Voldemort," at this, Draco flinched, "and the consequences on mental health. I’d like to start by going around the room, saying your name and age, and telling us briefly about yourself and why you’re here. Let’s begin with you, Craig.”

The man ran his large fingers through his black hair,clearing his throat. “Uh, hi. I’m Craig Anderson. I’m twenty-one. I graduated Hogwarts four years ago. I guess I became pretty fucked up after everything. My parents were killed, as were both of my sisters. I’m the only one remaining. It’s pretty lonely and I kind of don’t see a point to anything anymore.”

After thanking Craig for sharing, Bea decreed that it was Draco’s turn.

Draco gulped. “My name is Draco Malfoy, and I’m eighteen. I’m here for … Many reasons.”

Bea didn't argue with him.

Next was the woman. “Hi, everyone. I’m Sarah Barker and I’m twenty. My mum was killed during my last year at Hogwarts, so my dad pulled me out for safety reasons. I never graduated Hogwarts. I’m too anxious most days to do anything useful and I hate leaving the house.”

Finally, Potter spoke. “Hi. I’m Harry Potter and I’m eighteen. I’m here because my friend, Hermione, is making me.”

At that, Draco held in a snort.

“Right. Job well done, everyone. So, I’m curious, Sarah, what are you afraid of outside your house?”

As Sarah droned on about her fear of dying, Draco risked flicking his eyes to where Potter sat. He seemed as though he was listening to Sarah, but he looked like he was in pain. Potter was violently tracing his right index finger across his jeans, which Draco thought was a bit odd. Potter looked up, and their eyes met. Potter gave him a sad smile, and he looked away, the tips of his ears going red.

“This is actually an excellent topic for today’s discussion. Let’s talk about dying. There has obviously been a lot of death within these past few years, and it has certainly affected everyone. What are all of your thoughts on dying? Are you afraid, like Sarah? Ready for it?” Bea asked, glancing around the room.

Craig cleared his throat. “I think I’m more scared of it now. I saw my oldest sister killed and it’s something I can’t ever get out of my mind. I remember the second the life left her eyes. I’m fucking terrified of that.”

“Very understandable, Craig, and I know you’re not alone in that. It must have been very difficult for you. Harry, what about you?” Bea asked, turning to Potter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really been afraid of dying. It’s always been such a consistent topic in my life, right from the start, that it never really phased me. I kind of feel impartial about death,” Potter explained, shrugging.

“I see. Death has certainly been a recurring theme in your life, Harry. And Draco?” Bea asked, and Draco internally groaned.

“I don’t really know what I think about anything, anymore,” was all Draco could think to say. He heard murmurs of agreement from around the room.

Bea pushed her glasses up. “That makes a lot of sense, Draco.”

The rest of the hour was spent discussing what it meant to be alive. Oddly enough, Draco checked out during that part of the conversation. At seven o’clock, Bea announced that Group was over and she hoped to see everyone next week.

Bea stayed in her office while everyone filed into the empty waiting room. Sarah and Craig left first. Potter hung back and turned to Draco.

“Want to grab a curry?” Potter asked, giving Draco a small smile.

Confused, Draco couldn’t think of anything to say but, “what the fuck, Potter?”

Potter let out a huff of laughter. “I think it’s time we put everything behind us. I’m clearly going through shit, and you’re clearly going through shit, or else we wouldn’t be in group therapy. I’m just kind of tired of being the same person I was in school.”

Draco frowned, wondering why the hell Potter wanted to move on. If anything, he expected Potter to crack down even harder on him. He deserved it, anyway. Throughout their entire animosity, it had been Draco who was always in the wrong. Potter surely didn’t just conveniently forget all of that.

“I was awful to you in school,” Draco stated.

Potter laughed, the whiteness of his teeth glowing against his tawny skin. His eyes, for the first time since Malfoy had started running into him, had some semblance of life in them.

“I know,” he chuckled, “do you fancy red or yellow curry better?”

“I’ve never actually had curry, you git.”

Potter raised an eyebrow at him. “My motorcycle is parked outside. We’re going to Muggle London.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Elvendork, meet Malfoy. Malfoy, Elvendork,” Potter beamed, gesturing to his light blue, out of date motorcycle.

“You’re such an arse, Potter.”

Potter grinned. “It’s not my fault you can’t recognize a good name when you hear one.”

“Get on the fucking bike, Potter, before I change my mind,” Draco huffed.

With that, Potter handed Draco a helmet, buckled his own on, and climbed onto the motorcycle.

“C’mon, Malfoy. Just sit behind me and make sure to hold on tight to my waist, okay?” Potter instructed.

“Erotic.”

“Would you please get on already, you git?”

As Draco climbed on behind Potter, his arms slid into place around his waist. Heat radiated from Potter’s torso, which Draco was eternally grateful for, as the night was dark and frigid.

“Ready?” Potter asked, and Draco nodded.

Potter turned over the engine, and Elvendork grumbled to life. Draco felt himself instinctively clutch Potter’s waist harder.

Before Draco knew it, Potter had kicked off into the air, and they were on their way to reaching the appropriate elevation. A frosty wind whistled in Draco’s ears and icy tears stung his eyes from the cold.

Rising into the air, Draco couldn’t help but marvel at how easy their banter had been. Sure, they had banter before, but it wasn’t the type one exactly walked away from feeling good. This was different. It was softer.

After a few minutes, Elvendork leveled out, coasting along the wind. Draco looked down and through the misty air, he could make out silver and golden dots glowing down below, the city of London winking at him.

“Merlin, it’s beautiful,” Draco whispered.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Potter snickered.

“I am not afraid to throw you off of this uncivilized machine, Potter,” Draco shot back, silently thankful that Potter couldn’t see the corners of his mouth turning upward.

The rest of the ride was quiet, besides the loudness of the wind and the groaning of the motorcycle's engine. The silence made Draco blatantly aware of the fact that Potter was sitting directly in front of him. Hell, he could smell Potter. Eucalyptus.

It didn’t take them long to reach Muggle London, Potter directing Elvendork into an abandoned alleyway filled with dumpsters. The landing sent a jolt of energy into Draco’s shocked body.

Letting the engine die, Potter took off his helmet and ran his hand through the mess of curls that sat atop his head.

“Nothing you do will fix that mangled mess you call hair,” Draco stated, swiftly climbing off the bike and taking off his helmet. He smirked at Potter.

“Fuck off, Malfoy,” Potter said, sliding off Elvendork.

“I resent that. I thought I was being treated to curry!”

“Only if you behave yourself,” Potter said.

“Can’t promise anything. Also, are you just going to leave Elvendork there where any Muggle could see it?” Draco asked, furrowing his brow.

“Nah, it’s invisible to Muggles. C’mon. The curry place is right around the corner,” Potter said, beginning to walk forward. Something somewhat akin to fear sank in Draco’s stomach, making him unable to move.

After Potter had taken several steps, he turned around to Draco with a confused look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Draco frowned. “I’ve never been to Muggle London before. I’ve never even met a Muggle.”

Potter’s face relaxed, and he walked back to Draco, grabbing his hand. “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of. They won’t hurt you, and you won’t hurt them.”

Draco let himself be pulled forward under the warmth of Potter’s hand and then around the corner, landing them in front of a hole-in-the-wall curry place. Draco could smell spices he couldn’t name on the tip of his senses. Potter opened the door for him, and he walked into the mildly busy restaurant.

A large, burly man stood behind the counter, immediately lighting up when he saw Potter. Draco made a point to walk behind him.

“Hey, Stan! How’s it going? How are the kids?” Potter asked.

“Not too bad, Harry. How about yourself?” Stan inquired, smiling.

“Yeah, all good. My friend has never had curry before, so I’m treating him to the best curry in the world,” Potter said.

“Never had curry? Boy, you’re missing out! That’s the only thing about having skin as white as snow. You don’t know the meaning of good food!” Stan guffawed, holding his stomach.

“What seems good to you tonight, Stan?” Potter asked, looking at the menu board hanging on the wall behind Stan.

“You ask me that every time, Harry, but you always order the same thing. Why don’t I just get you and your friend your usual? Can’t ever go wrong with my yellow curry and samosas,” Stan suggested, looking to Harry for an answer.

“Sure. Go for it,” Harry said, turning to smile at Draco.

Surprising himself, Draco offered a small smile back.

Once Stan had plated their orders and Potter had paid with a type of money that Draco had never seen before, they took their food to a table in the back and sat down opposite each other. Draco stared at his food, unsure of how to go about eating it.

“You okay, Malfoy?” Harry asked, already on his third bite.

“Yeah. I, uh … how do I exactly …?” Draco’s voice trailed off.

“Eat it?” Potter finished his sentence for him.

Draco nodded.

Setting down his fork, Potter said, “no problem. I eat curry with a fork, and I usually eat it along with a bit of rice. As for the samosas, you can just eat those with your hands.”

Picking up his fork, Draco scooped up a little rice and curry onto it. He slowly put it in his mouth, letting himself savor the unknown flavors.

“Merlin’s beard, that’s fantastic,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes at how good the curry was.

“Stan! He loves it!” Potter shouted to Stan from across the small restaurant.

“Didn’t expect any less!” Stan shouted back, giving Potter a thumbs up.

Potter resumed eating, and Draco watched him. He looked inexplicably at home. In an odd way, it was nice to see him so at ease.

“So, what did you think of Group tonight?” Potter asked, shoveling an enormous bite of samosa into his mouth.

“It was … Odd?” Draco concluded.

Potter nodded. “It really was. Merlin, those were heavy topics.”

Draco briefly hesitated before asking, “why did Granger make you go?”

Potter swallowed, thinking for a moment before finally saying, “Things sort of went downhill after everything ended. I would get these really intrusive thoughts in my mind, and they would only go away after I asked Hermione or Ron about it. If I didn’t seek reassurance, I felt like I was going to die. Something bad would happen. I guess I really started to annoy Hermione and Ron, because she came over to my flat one day and told me she’d found a therapist and my first appointment was the following day. Couldn’t really argue with that. Anyway, my therapist says it’s something called obsessive compulsive disorder, OCD for short, and it was brought on by trauma.”

It took Draco a minute to process.

“Could you explain the OCD a bit more?” he asked.

“Yeah, no problem. So, for example, everyone gets weird, random thoughts like, ‘what if I killed my dog?’ Someone without OCD would be able to recognize that as a silly thought and dismiss it. However, people with OCD latch onto those types of thoughts. I would begin to wonder if I really wanted to kill my dog. Then, I would become convinced I would. That would lead to me obsessing over the fact that I wanted to harm animals, which can be a tell-tale sign of becoming a serial killer. It’s called the doubting disease for a reason. It makes you doubt everything you know about yourself, and it eventually gets to the point where you don’t know what’s real and what’s not. That’s where Ron and Hermione would come in. I would compulsively ask them for reassurance, making sure that I didn’t want to kill my dog. If I didn’t ask them, I felt like my chest was going to explode. Asking them immediately relieved the pressure, but it would come back. I would end up asking that question many times over the course of the day, sometimes Flooing over to Hermione’s flat in the middle of the night just to make sure. The dog question was just an example, but I mostly think and ask things about the war. One thing that likes to pop up is wondering if I’m responsible for all of the deaths during the battle,” Potter explained, barely taking a breath in between sentences.

“Shit, Potter.”

Potter snorted. “Yeah. It’s a lot. But what about you? Why are you actually at Group?”

Draco sighed. “My mother made me begin therapy. She thought it would be good for me, since I hadn’t left the house since my father had received his sentencing. I couldn’t sleep and I barely ate. Honestly, this is the most I’ve eaten at one time in years. Then, a little over a month ago, my mother killed herself. I was the one who found her. I think I just feel very empty and alone.”

“I’m so sorry, Malfoy. Narcissa did a lot for me last year. I don’t blame her for anything. She was in a tough spot. All things considered, it’s great that you’ve been able to make it to therapy and what not,” Potter said.

“Thanks, Potter,” Draco said softly. “I kind of don’t want this to end. It’s been nice talking to someone other than Hermione and Ron,” Potter sighed.

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched. “Well, I’m moving into my new flat on Monday. I could use an extra pair of hands to help me move everything.”

Potter’s face lit up. “I’d love to help you. Wait, you’re moving out of the Manor?”

“Yeah. Too many memories,” Draco said nonchalantly.

Potter nodded, and Draco knew he understood.

They soon finished their curry, and then Potter offered to take Draco home. He accepted, knowing damn well that he wouldn’t know how to get home via Muggle transportation.

The ride home was quiet, both consumed with curry and thoughts. Soon enough, they arrived at the front door of Malfoy manor. Both got off Elvendork, sliding their helmets off. Draco walked up the five stone steps that led to the front porch. Potter followed.

“Thanks for tonight, Potter. I’ll buy dinner next time,” Draco said.

“Oh? So there’s going to be a next time?” Potter grinned.

“Piss off. You’re already helping me move into my flat. The least I can do is buy you dinner,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, speaking of Monday, I’ll need you here at eight that morning.”

“It’s a date,” Potter said, walking down the steps and hopping on Elvendork.

Before Malfoy could say anything, Potter had disappeared into the night sky. As he turned to unlock the door, Draco’s heart felt warm.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time Monday morning rolled around, Draco was a messy ball of nerves. He got dressed in the most casual clothing he had, a pair of beige trousers and a light blue jumper. Looking in the mirror, Draco groaned. He didn’t know why he cared so much. It was only Potter.

The doorbell rang at 9:05. Draco bolted downstairs, tripping on a box by the front door. Recovering quickly, Draco opened the door to find a bright-eyed Potter grinning at him.

“I didn’t peg you for a morning person, to be honest,” Draco said, gesturing for Potter to follow him into the house.

“Oh, I’m not. I’m just excited to go through all your shit,” Potter beamed, taking a look at the enormous amount of boxes strewn across the Grand Foyer floor.

“Thanks, Potter,” Draco said dryly.

“No problem. Oh, by the way, these are for you,” Potter said softly, handing Draco a t-shirt, pair of trainers, and pair of joggers. “Knowing you, I thought you might need something more casual.”

“Uh, thank you. I’m going to go change, then. Be right back,” Draco said, charging upstairs to his bathroom.

Despite Potter being there, Draco still checked the shower curtain and went through the trouble of warding the door. After he felt well protected, Draco took a proper look at the clothing in his arms. The shirt was soft, a foreign logo reading ‘Star Wars’ written across the chest. The sweatpants were just as worn as the shirt, minuscule fuzzballs sprinkled across the cotton fabric. Potter's shoes had been originally white, but they were now an off shade of grey. Draco stripped and then pulled Potter’s clothing and shoes on. He looked at himself in the mirror, a deep red creeping up his neck. The clothes felt right on him. At home. And he didn’t quite know what to make of that.

After realizing that he had spent a suspicious amount of time in the bathroom, Draco rushed back downstairs to where Potter was foraging through a box of odd and miscellaneous objects. Potter looked up at him and grinned.

“Hey, you no longer look like you have a stick up your arse,” Potter snickered, and Draco showed him his middle finger.

“So, what’s your plan?” Potter asked, arching an eyebrow at Draco. Draco sat on the floor next to Potter, saying, “Don’t really have one. We just need to move everything to my flat by tonight.”

“And where do you exactly imagine putting a houseful of boxes in a remarkably smaller flat?” Potter asked, looking directly at Draco.

“Eh, we’ll figure it out later,” Draco said, dismissing the thought by waving his hand in the air.

Potter caught his wrist, pulling it down to examine. Draco felt a surge of embarrassment, but he resisted pulling his hand away. He watched Potter look at his inner left forearm, tracing the lumpy scars with the soft pads of his fingers.

“What’s this?” Potter asked, his sad eyes finding Draco’s.

Draco cleared his throat, pulling his arm away as he looked away from Potter. “It, uh, it was punishment for my involvement in the war. I was sentenced to a stripping. They took me to St. Mungo's, and a witch there performed the stripping. They gouged out the Dark Mark and its deep roots without any numbing, and it wasn’t healed properly on purpose. It’s a reminder of who I am.”

It was quiet for longer than Draco expected, but he refused to look up from the floor.

“Draco?”

Draco’s head snapped up at the sound of his first name. Potter was staring at him, a look on his face that he had never seen before.

“I’m so sorry. I know that’s a shitty thing to say, but I honestly don’t know what else to tell you. I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that,” Potter sighed.

“You called me by my first name,” was all Draco could think of to say.

Potter gave him a half-smile. “Since we’re friends now, I figure we should use first names.”

Draco gave him another puzzled look. “So, we’re friends?”

“Obviously,” Potter — no, Harry — shoved his shoulder playfully.

“Right. Well, then, Harry, we better get our arses moving if we want to get all of this done today,” Draco said, smirking.

Harry helped him to his feet.

“Lead the way.”

They decided that the most productive way of moving the ridiculous amount of boxes was to go back and forth in the Floo with them. After getting the first set of boxes into the Floo with them, Draco threw down a handful of powder and said the address of his new flat. After a few seconds of being in a whirlwind, they arrived at the flat.

“Okay, follow me,” Draco said, leading Harry out of the Floo and into the open living room.

“Merlin, nice place,” Harry said, letting out a whistle.

The two of them set the first round of boxes near the windows.

“Thanks. I’m pretty happy about it, to be honest. Hey, where are you living these days? With the Weas … with Weasley?” Draco asked, stopping himself from saying _weasel_ just in time.

“Nah. Sirius left his house to me. I’ve been living there since the battle, although it’s not exactly ideal. It’s … depressing. I’m looking to find a new place soon, to be honest,” Harry explained.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine. Hey, maybe you can help me find a new place,” Harry suggested, and Draco smiled.

They spent the rest of the day hauling boxes to the new flat. The hours went by in a dizzying blur as they somehow managed to fill the silence with endless conversation, often throwing friendly insults at one another.

They moved the last of the boxes at eight o’clock, and then they spent an hour shrinking all of the boxes down to fit in the coat closet. Afterwards, they both collapsed onto the couch, slouching against one another. The windows were open, letting a cold breeze move throughout the stuffy rooms of the flat. A barn owl flew into the living room, giving Draco a fright. It perched itself atop the arm of the couch, an envelope sticking out of its mouth. Draco immediately recognized Bea’s handwriting.

_Dear Draco and Harry,_

_I’m sorry to let you both know this, but it is against the rules of group therapy to know each other and socialize outside of the group. It creates a harmful dynamic within the group, making other members feel less equal. This was a part of the forms you signed at the beginning of Group, and I verbally went over it as well. You both don’t strike me as the type of people to consciously break the rules, so I am guessing that you both were drifting off when I discussed this._

_The forms that you signed were laced with magic to let me know if anyone broke the rules of the group. I got an alert as soon as you were together after Group, but I decided to forgo that, hoping it was a one-off. However, I realized that I needed to reach out to you both when you were together today. I am writing this letter to kindly inform you of your removal from the group. I would, however, strongly urge you to continue your individual therapy._

_I hope to see you tomorrow, Draco._

_Bea_

Draco’s jaw locked, and he handed the letter to Harry so he could read it. As Harry skimmed over Bea’s words, Draco tapped his foot anxiously on the ground. Finally, Harry set the letter down on his lap and looked at him.

“No problem. I’m satisfied with individual therapy and your friendship,” Harry shrugged.

Draco gave him a strange look. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Draco found himself smiling and then it immediately disappeared. “Harry, your friends are never going to let you be friends with me.”

“Hey, that’s not true. They only know who you used to be, not who you are now. Why don’t we all have dinner on Wednesday?” Harry asked, sinking further into the couch cushions.

Draco frowned. “Are you sure they won’t try to kill me?”

“Not if you apologize.”

“Alright. I’m good with Wednesday if everyone else is. Just write to me when and where to show up. Or pop in the Floo, since you now know my address,” Draco said.

“What if I poke my head out of the Floo and you’re walking around naked?” Harry asked, snickering.

“Please piss off and order some take-away.”


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn’t until Harry left that Draco realized the sudden loneliness he was faced with was both suffocating and deafening. He stared at the Floo, watching the empty space that Harry had occupied just minutes ago. The uncomfortable brokenness of reality settled back into his bones.

Draco’s dry eyes began to water, warm tears spilling over. His chest tightened, constricting his airflow. Digging his nails into the soft fabric of Harry’s joggers, he tried to calm down. But, with each breath he took, Draco seemed to somehow lose more air.

Flashes of his mother jolted through his scrambled mind. He remembered the smell of her perfume: rosemary with a hint of lemon.

Draco didn’t know how long he stayed like that, trying to breathe as he navigated memories of his dead mother. He tried to recall the last thing he said to her. He was pretty sure it was, “I love you.”

The one person who had always been on his side had disappeared. Permanently. The isolation was absolute. Sure, he had Harry, but who knew how long that would last. Draco was sure he would do something to scare off Harry at some point in the not-too-distant future.

He thought of Flooing to Harry’s house but quickly dismissed the idea. They had just become friends, and Draco didn’t need to go and ruin it with his neediness. No, he had to deal with his loneliness and … Whatever the rest of it was alone. That was, perhaps, the only way he could move forward.

Without moving any of the empty Chinese take-away boxes to the trash can, Draco eventually stood up and took shaky steps to his bedroom. His new bed stared at him, daring Draco to feel sorry for himself.

Instead of changing into his own pajamas, Draco stayed in Harry’s shirt and joggers. They smelled like him and they were soft. Not thinking too deep into it, Draco told himself that he needed all the comfort he could get.

As Draco let his eyes wander around the blackness of the bedroom, pulling the covers right up to his chin, he suddenly remembered that he would have to see Bea the following day. A surge of embarrassment overwhelmed Draco’s nervous system and he began to cry again. Between the sobbing and the constant bereavement of memories, it took Draco a long while to fall asleep. When he finally did, he was met with bitter dreams filled with vivid flashes of his mother’s face.

When he woke, it took him a moment to remember where he was. A new bed, a new room, a new home for where the hurt was.

Draco took his time getting up, slowly moving his protesting body. Without changing out of Harry’s clothes, he went to the bathroom and then wandered to the coat closet and began rifling through the shrunken boxes until he came across his kettle. Breakfast would have to come later as he had neglected to go shopping.

As Draco put on the kettle, he couldn’t help but long for more of Harry’s comfy clothes. He made a mental note to ponder if that was an odd thing to ask for.

The rest of the morning was spent drinking tea and mentally preparing to leave the flat. Draco had absolutely no desire to see Bea but he didn’t want to disappoint her. He began to get ready at one o’clock.

On his way over to the therapy ward, Draco remembered that he would be seeing Harry on his way out. That sent some energy pumping into his veins.

Draco sat in the waiting room, grimacing at the scratchiness of his sweater compared to the softness of Harry’s t-shirt, until Bea walked in to call him back. She greeted him with a smile, leading him back to her office. Draco felt as though he was going to be sick.

He sat on the couch and Bea settled into her chair across from him.

“How are you, Draco? What are you feeling after my letter?” Bea asked, looking at him. Draco cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Embarrassed, I think. Harry and I definitely didn’t do anything on purpose. After reading your letter, though, we decided that we were both happy with individual therapy and each other’s friendship.”

Bea smiled. “I must admit that I was shocked when the magic-laced papers you signed flagged me that it was you two who were socializing. The tales of you two at Hogwarts are infamous. Now, Harry doesn’t see me for individual therapy, so I don’t know him. However, as I thought more about it, your friendship doesn’t seem that big of a leap.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Just that when taking a step back, it seems that, in many ways, your lives mirrored one another’s - you were simply on different fighting sides. You both had very heavy pressures and expectations from friends and family, and I imagine there was a looming fear of disappointment that was instilled in the both of you. And, if the tales about you two are true, then I would say you’re both just as proud, stubborn, and brave as one another,” Bea explained.

Draco shook his head. “No, I’m not brave. Last night, after Harry left, I couldn’t breathe. I was scared of being alone and I kept remembering my mother. I kept reliving finding her. It was like I was there. And then there are parts of last night that are missing. I don’t really know what to make of that. I just know that I’m not brave.”

Bea stared at him with a curious look. “Draco, have we ever talked about PTSD?”

Draco frowned and shook his head.

“Well, I thought that you might have PTSD from the start, but what you just said really solidified my hypothesis. Would you mind if we went over the criteria for having PTSD?” Bea asked.

“I don’t mind, but … What is it, exactly?” Draco inquired.

“Ah. Sorry. I got ahead of myself. PTSD stands for post-traumatic stress disorder. People often experience PTSD after something traumatic has happened, whether that’s an accident, a war, or some type of verbal, sexual, or physical abuse. You’ve certainly had enough trauma to last you a lifetime,” Bea explained, “I’m going to go get a book to help me double check the criteria.”

While Bea walked to the opposite side of her office to fetch a thick book, Draco picked violently at a hangnail.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Bea said, sitting down. “We’re going to start off with criterion A, which is seeing if you were exposed to a near death experience, exposed to death in general, threatened with death, or experienced a life-threatening injury through direct exposure, bearing witness to a trauma, discovering that someone close to you was confronted with trauma, or indirect exposure. I know this seems like a lot but I’ll break it down for you. You’ve been exposed to a lot of death, both directly and indirectly, and from what you’ve described, I’ve gathered that you have been personally faced with death many times. Is that correct?”

Draco nodded, his throat closing slightly. “Yes.”

“You’ve passed criterion A, then. Now for criterion B. Do you relive past traumas? Reliving discovering your mother’s body would be a prime example.”

“Yeah. I do that. I’ll also suddenly remember living with the Dark Lord, trying to kill Dumbledore, and nearly being killed by Harry in vivid detail,” Draco said, avoiding eye contact.

“Right. How about nightmares? Do you have them often? And are these memories upsetting and unwanted?” Bea asked, tapping the tip of her quill against her parchment.

“Yes to all of the above. I have nightmares every night and none of my memories are ever wanted. I honestly feel like I’m going crazy,” Draco sighed, rubbing his temple.

Bea offered him a warm smile. “You’re not crazy, Draco. There’s a good explanation for everything you’ve been experiencing. Now, do you have emotional or physical responses after being exposed to something that reminds you of a trauma you’ve experienced?”

Draco thought about that for a moment. “I suppose, yeah. I nearly … blackout, almost, whenever I’m reminded of something or reliving it. I think it gets too much for me and I panic.”

“Mhm,” Bea murmured, jotting down notes, “and as for criterion C, do you tend to avoid things that would be considered trauma related stimuli?”

“Uh, I guess. I don’t really like leaving the house and I don’t like talking to people of authority. When Mother died, it nearly killed me to have to talk to two Aurors. I couldn’t help but feel as though I had done something wrong. I remember bracing myself for being arrested. And I definitely put off packing. I didn’t want to see any of my old school robes or textbooks, and I couldn’t bear to go through any of my parents’ things. When I was organizing them, I remember sort of fading in and out, caught in between memories,” Draco whispered.

“Now for criterion D, Draco. You’re nearly there. So, you said you remember traumatic things with vivid detail?”

“Yes.”

“And what about blame? Do you put an irrational blame on yourself or others?” Bea asked, looking up at Draco.

“I, uh, yeah. Myself.”

“Got it. Do you find yourself feeling overly negative things about yourself or the world? And have you lost an interest in things or felt isolated?”

Draco frowned. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t think the glass is half full. It’s certainly half empty and it’s hard to feel happy. I guess I’ve been feeling it when I’ve been around Harry, but it only lasts for as long as he’s with me. As soon as he leaves, I’m back to wanting to do nothing but cry.”

“Well, you just answered my next question, which was if you had a difficult time feeling the positive effects of something or someone. Now for criterion E. Tell me which of the following you find yourself being: irritable, aggressive, having destructive behavioral patterns, hypervigilance, a heightened startle reaction, difficulty sleeping, or difficulty thinking?” Bea asked, blinking at Draco.

“All of the above, maybe? Or, I don’t know. The only one I’m not sure about is having destructive behavior.”

“Alright. Let’s talk about that for a minute, then. Do you self-sabotage yourself? Do things that you know will harm your future self?”

“I mean, I haven’t written to my friends in months. I don’t really know if I’m punishing them or myself. And I haven’t put any energy into thinking about my future because I don’t really think I deserve one, I suppose. I guess I’ve been wanting to make things as difficult for myself, like I made things difficult for everyone else at school …” Draco’s voice trailed off, remembering the sensation he would get when teasing someone younger than him. It felt good.

“I understand what you mean, Draco. For criterion F, G, and H, these symptoms have lasted longer than one month, cause functional impairment, and are not due to any substance or potion, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Alright, last things. Do you feel as though nothing is real or you’re detached from yourself?” Bea asked.

“Both, but mostly the first. I feel like life isn’t real anymore.” Bea set down her quill and parchment, letting it rest in her lap. “Draco, I’m giving you an official diagnosis of PTSD. This is a great first step, as it means that we can move forward in giving you the help and tools you need to heal. It’s quite possible you’ll have this disorder for the rest of your life, but, with treatment, it can become something very manageable.”

“Merlin.”

Bea gave Draco a smile. “Are you overwhelmed?”

Draco nodded. “A little.”

“Well, our time is up, but I want you to think over what we went through today. Maybe over the next week you could write down any symptoms you notice and what heightened them or brought them on. Same time next week, correct?” Bea asked, standing up.

“Yes. See you next week,” Draco said.

They bid farewell and Draco walked back out into the waiting room. He immediately spotted Harry, who stood up and walked over to him.

“Hey. How’s it going today?” Harry asked, giving Draco a lopsided grin.

“Pretty alright. How about yourself?” Draco asked, overtly aware that he was talking to Harry in a waiting room. Everyone was probably listening to them talk and he didn’t like it.

“Yeah, great. Hey, are you available to hang out after my appointment?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I’d love to,” Draco found himself saying far too eagerly.

“Brilliant. Meet you at your place?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

As he turned to leave, Draco felt an excited flutter in his stomach that he knew wasn't going to last.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco cleaned up his flat in record time, making sure to cast a Scourgify to get rid of the left-over Chinese smell. As he sat on the couch, bouncing his knee anxiously, he stared at the fireplace, waiting for Harry to come in.

Soon enough, he did. Draco smiled at him, patting the cushion next to him. Harry plopped down, grinning.

“So, how was therapy?” Draco asked.

“It was actually really good. I talked about becoming friends with you. It was nice,” Harry replied, blushing slightly.

Draco didn’t know what to say, so he offered Harry a grin.

“And how was your session?” Harry asked.

“Good. Weird. I was diagnosed with PTSD,” Draco shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, I’ve heard of that! My therapist thinks that it’s potentially the driving force behind my OCD. I’m so pleased for you, Draco. When you learn strategies let me know if I can do anything to help,” Harry offered.

It was Draco’s turn to blush.

“Thanks, Harry.”

“No problem.”

They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a while.

Draco was the one to break the quiet. “Would it be weird if I asked you for more comfy clothes?”

Harry let out a chuckle. “I’d be happy to give you more comfy clothes. Merlin knows I have far too many ratty t-shirts.”

“Thanks. I’ve discovered that cotton is far more comfier than wool,” Draco sighed, settling into the couch.

Harry did the same.

“So, are you still dating Weasley’s sister?” Draco asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Ginny? No, we broke up after the battle. It became pretty obvious that we thought of each other more as siblings, and we’d been trying to force something that was never going to work,” Harry explained.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Draco said, although, for some reason, it made his insides feel warm.

Harry leaned his head on the back of the couch. “Merlin, don’t be. How about you? I was always curious about you and Parkinson.”

Draco snorted. “Pansy? She’s the biggest lesbian I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. She and Daphne had a thing in 5th year.”

“Huh. So have you ever dated anyone, then?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Nah. Didn’t you have a thing with Chang?” Draco inquired.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, but it was short lived. She was too traumatized after Cedric.”

“Makes sense,” Draco said.

“So, on a different subject, have you ever been to a cinema?” Harry asked, a smirk teasing on the corner of his lips.

“No, but I’ve heard of them. Don’t they show like huge photographs projected onto a screen or something?” Draco guessed.

Harry laughed. “Pictures don’t move in the Muggle world. So a movie does move in the way that magical photos do, but there’s a plot to it. It’s like seeing a book come to life. They last anywhere from one to three hours long. You watch them in a cinema. There’s this movie that’s just come out. It’s called “You’ve Got Mail,” and it stars Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. They’re really famous Muggle actors. I’ve been trying to get Ron to see it with me but he refuses to budge. Want to go with me tonight?”

Draco pondered the invitation for a moment, mulling over the fact that he would have to leave the house. The panic that he always felt when faced with going into the world pooled in the bottom of his stomach.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Draco somehow managed to say.

Harry clasped his hands in happiness. “Yes! Great. Okay, let’s Floo over to my house and I can give you some casual clothes to change into. I’ll take a look at the Muggle newspaper and see what time the movie is showing. Sounds good?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Draco said through a smile that reached his grey eyes.

They Flooed to Grimmauld Place, and Draco immediately understood why Harry wanted to move out. Everything was either black or grey in color, and nearly no natural light streamed through the foggy windows. There were large, ugly portraits of Draco’s relatives hanging on practically every available wall space.

“Well, welcome to my, uh, home?” Harry said, leading Draco upstairs.

“Harry, ‘home’ somehow doesn’t seem like the right word,” Draco said as he took in his grim surroundings.

“Mm. You’ve got a point. Here’s my bedroom. It used to be Sirius’,” Harry said, turning into a miserable looking room. The walls were deep charcoal in color, and in the middle of the room sat a large four-postered bed. An enormous serpent was carved in the headboard.

“You’ve got to get out of here,” Draco whispered.

Harry turned to him. “I will. Soon.”

Before Draco could say anything, Harry walked over to his wardrobe. There, he pulled out a pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt, and a red sweatshirt.

“Here you go. This is my favorite t-shirt. It’s extra soft,” Harry said.

Draco tried to hand it back. “Harry, I can’t take your favorite shirt.”

“No, no. I want you to,” Harry replied, pushing the articles of clothing back into Draco’s arms. “Now, the bathroom is down the hall on the right. I’m just going to be downstairs looking for the movie times. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done!”

Draco made his way to the bathroom, changing into Harry’s clothes. When he took a look in the mirror, he nearly didn’t recognize himself. He beamed at his reflection.

He walked downstairs, navigating his way to the relatively small kitchen. Harry sat at the kitchen table, flicking through the pages of a newspaper.

“Hey,” Harry said, looking up at the sound of Draco’s footsteps.

He sat down next to Harry.

“So, found anything?” Draco asked, leaning towards Harry so he could get a look at the Muggle newspaper.

“Yeah. There’s one playing at a cinema about fifteen minutes from here. It begins in forty-five minutes so we should get going,” Harry said, closing the newspaper and standing up.

Harry led the way to the backyard, which seemed to be overrun with dangerous plants. Draco eyed the plants suspiciously before he spotted Elvendork. His heart skipped a beat.

Harry turned to him. “Ready to ride?”

Draco smiled.

The ride to the cinema was even nicer than the last time. Draco felt far more comfortable grabbing Harry’s waist as they emerged out of the clouds. The very last breath of the sun sank into the horizon, and Draco leaned into Harry, resting his chin on his right shoulder.

They landed in an alleyway filled with shadows. Harry helped Draco off the motorcycle, and they both took off their helmets. Draco grinned at Harry’s helmet hair.

They walked to the cinema a street away, weaving their way in between a heavy stream of Muggles heading home from work. Harry looked so at ease, as though he was in his element. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

They arrived at the cinema and Harry paid for the tickets.

“I’m paying you back, you know,” Draco said as they walked inside.

The floor was sticky, and an overwhelming buttery smell entered Draco’s nose.

“You pay for magic things, and I’ll pay for Muggle stuff. Deal?” Harry asked, smirking.

They found seats in the back right corner of the cinema. As the lights dimmed and a magnificent image was projected on the screen, Draco became mesmerized, leaning forward in his seat to soak in everything his eyes were seeing. He stayed like that for a while, only leaning back when Joe walked into the bookstore for the first time. Despite the movie right in front of him, Draco couldn’t help but turn his attention to Harry. The projection of the movie reflected in his glasses and he was absorbed with the movie.

Draco subtly studied Harry’s face, a swell of something he couldn't name filling his heart.


	16. Chapter 16

“So? What’d you think?” Harry asked, grinning.

The ride back to Grimmauld Place had been filled with snow flurries, and Harry suggested that they try to thaw out under a mountain of blankets in his bed. He had given Draco a pair of flannel pajamas and changed into a pair, as well.

“I genuinely don’t know how to describe it. It was … amazing,” Draco finally concluded, pulling the blankets up further, all the way to his pointy chin.

He took a sip of hot tea — one teaspoon of sugar and a dash of milk — and smiled at Harry.

“I’m so glad. I’ll let you know when another movie catches my eye and we can go see it,” Harry suggested.

“Perfect.”

They sat in a thick, comfortable quiet for what seemed like forever. Draco couldn’t help but worry that he was going to screw all of this up.

“What do you want to do with your life?” Harry suddenly asked.

Draco was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed, shifting so he was facing Draco. “Don’t you have a dream, Draco? Somewhere you want to get to in life?”

Draco frowned. “I used to have dreams, I think. I haven’t thought about them in years, though. I think it seems all too pointless to dwell on things that will most likely never happen.”

“What did you used to dream about, then?” Harry prodded, a smile hiding behind the lip of his mug.

“You’re insufferable, you git,” Draco teased before taking a moment to remember what his hopes used to be. “It’s stupid. Merlin, I don’t know if I can say it out loud. Uh, I used to dream about becoming the Potions professor at Hogwarts.”

Harry gave him a curious look. “I don’t think that’s stupid. I think you’d be a great teacher.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Thanks, Harry, but it’s never going to happen.”

“What else did you want out of life?” Harry pushed.

“I don’t know, really. Now, time for you to answer the same questions,” Draco said, arching an eyebrow.

Harry sighed. “I used to want to be an Auror. I thought saving the world was what I was meant to do. I was even offered a spot in training after the battle. I just … Couldn’t, you know? I know I want a family. I want to find love in someone who is also my best friend, and I’d love to have kids. Thinking about it, though, everything seems so impossible.”

Something burned in Draco’s stomach at the thought of Harry having a family — a wife, children, maybe even a few pets.

“There are so many people out there who would love to love you, Harry,” was all Draco could think of to say.

Harry offered him a lopsided grin. “I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

A soft silence washed over them once more, and Draco leaned back on the headboard, concentrating on the sound of Harry’s breathing. He was unsure how long they sat like that before Harry broke the quiet.

“I just want to move out of this hellhole, already,” he sighed.

Draco looked at him, something clicking in his mind. “Want to hear an insane proposition?”

“Yes?”

Draco took a deep breath. “What if you moved in with me? Just for the time being, I mean. Until you can find a place that you want to settle in. That way, you wouldn’t have to still be here while trying to organize everything.”

Harry blinked at him, and then, very slowly, a blush crept up his neck, and he smiled. “I would honestly love that. But - and this is my only but - we’ve only hung out a couple times. What if you decide that you actually can’t stand me?”

“I think I’ll take that risk, Harry,” Draco replied.

“Would I be putting you out?” Harry asked.

Draco grabbed his hand. “No, not at all. It would actually be really nice. You’re the first person I’ve actually been social with for a long time. I … Get lonely, when you leave. We’d just need to transfigure the couch into a bed every night. Would that bother you?”

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand. “I feel the same. I know I’ve got Ron and Hermione, but it’s different with you. I don’t know why, but it is. And no, it wouldn’t bother me at all.”

“I understand. It’s different with you, too.”

“When do you want me to move in, then?” Harry asked, absently gnawing on his lip.

“Probably after we see Granger and Weasley tomorrow. I imagine that your friendship with me will come as enough of a shock. I don’t know if they’ll be ready to hear that you’re moving in,” Draco snorted.

“Eh, you’ve got a point. Oh! I completely forgot to tell you. We’re all set for meeting with them tomorrow. Hermione suggested going over to her and Ron’s flat at four. Ron is a little more reserved, I think, but I know that Hermione is really open to getting to know you.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. “Do I … Should I be worried about Weasley?”

“No. Not at all. I would just go slow with him. And apologize. I think that’ll do the trick, honestly. I know he thinks I’ve gone a little batty, but I’m sure that once he sees how you are now, he’ll warm up.”

“Merlin, I hope so.”

Harry offered him a warm smile. “It’s going to be okay. Really. I think you’ll get along with them well.”

“That would be ideal.”

A confused look crossed over Harry’s features. “I just realized I never asked about Zabini or Parkinson. Whatever happened to them?”

Draco grimaced. “They gave up on me, I think. I don’t know. The last time I saw them was in mid-May. They were pretending that everything was normal even though it obviously wasn’t. Once they left, I never heard from either one of them again. They didn’t even write when my mother died.”

“Their loss, okay? I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that,” Harry said.

Draco gave a hollow laugh. “It’s honestly the least I deserve.”

“Draco, stop. That’s not true,” Harry urged.

Irritation began to spread throughout Draco’s thin chest. “It is true! You don’t know what I’ve done, Harry. I lived with The Dark Lord. I’ve seen things you couldn’t dream of. I helped him. Anything he asked, I did. And while you were parading around during 7th year, I was helping the world turn dark. You don’t know what that’s like, Harry,” Draco spat.

“Come here, Draco,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s cup of tea and setting it down, along with his own. “Come on. Come here.”

Draco stared at Harry’s outstretched arms. Harry adjusted himself, lying down and patting his chest. Draco, embarrassed over his outburst, slowly moved into Harry’s arms, resting his head on his chest. As he closed his eyes, he could feel Harry’s hand running through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I get like that sometimes. Irritable, I mean,” Draco whispered, his cheeks hot with mortification.

“Shh, Draco. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. Just listen. Yeah, you’ve made mistakes. But so have I. It was war-time, and you were doing what you needed to do in order to ensure your family’s survival. I don’t blame you. You were a child. We all were. What matters now is that you’ve recognized what happened in your past, and you’ve put in a conscious effort to change your behavior.”

Draco realized that his cheeks were wet and he buried his head deeper into Harry’s chest.

“I don’t know why you don’t hate me, Harry. I was awful to you, and I was awful to your friends,” Draco said in a muffled voice.

“I could never hate you.”

Draco stayed on Harry’s chest for quite some time, eventually falling asleep to the feeling of Harry's hand in his hair.


	17. Chapter 17

The following morning, Draco woke up at twelve to a bundle of nerves in his stomach. He was alarmed to find himself wrapped in a snoring Harry’s warm, comforting arms. It felt oddly nice.

Draco turned over to face Harry, compelled to watch him sleep. He had never noticed how dark Harry’s eyelashes were — or how long. He looked so different without his glasses, he seemed softer.

Harry opened one eye. “Mm. Morning.”

Draco smiled at him. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I slept that well. You?” Harry asked, stretching. His arms resumed their position around Draco.

“I slept really well — up until the time that I sort of woke up and then realized that we’re seeing Granger and Weasley today,” Draco said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not,” Harry smiled.

They stayed in each other’s arms for several minutes, looking at each other.

“Isn’t it odd that we’ve only resumed talking a few days ago, and you’re already the person I’m closest to? What happened to you being the bane of my existence?” Draco asked.

“I don’t think it’s weird. I mean yeah, maybe a little, but I feel the same way about you. I guess we have more in common than we always thought. I don’t know. I think it was easier to get to know you once I realized that the things you did weren’t your fault. Like yes, you did make mistakes, but so did I. You were under such extreme pressure. Anyway, I’m honestly so glad we’ve gotten close. I feel like I’ve always been friends with you,” Harry explained, pulling Draco closer.

“You’re very affectionate, aren’t you?”

“Only with certain people.”

“Huh.”

An hour passed before they got out of bed, realizing that they only had three hours before they needed to be at Granger and Weasley’s flat. Draco announced that he needed to go back to his own flat to take a shower and put on his own clothes, suggesting that his friends might find it odd if he showed up in Harry’s clothing. Draco swore he saw Harry’s face drop slightly at that.

“While you’re showering, why don’t I go food shopping for you? You will eventually need to stock your flat with food, you know,” Harry said, smirking.

Draco gave him a light shove, smiling. “If you insist. But I’m paying!”

“No, no. Since I’m moving in, this is my food too. I’m paying.”

They continued to argue over who would be paying for the groceries for ten minutes. Eventually, Draco gave into Harry. He couldn’t resist.

Harry Apparated to a food shop unknown, and Draco Flooed back to his flat. He quickly hopped into the boiling shower, letting the hot water run over him. Suddenly, his brain started wondering how Harry showered: what part of his body he washed first, the type of shampoo and soap he used, how long his showers lasted.

“What the fuck, Draco? You’re losing it,” he muttered to himself, rinsing the suds from his body. However, he couldn’t help but feel a stirring in his stomach, a stirring that he hadn’t felt since before the battle.

After finishing his shower, Draco took down the bathroom wards and stepped out of the bathroom in only a towel. He didn’t expect Harry to be back yet, heading to the kitchen to make himself a pre-tea cup of tea.

“Hey. I’ve put away the groceries. Take a look!” Harry said from the couch, making Draco jump. He instinctively gripped his towel tighter.

“Merlin, Harry. I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” Draco said, blushing.

Harry grinned. “Go look!”

Rolling his eyes, Draco opened the cupboards, which were chock full of sweets and snacks.

“What in Merlin’s fresh hell is a ‘wagon wheel?’” Draco questioned, grabbing a blue package from the cupboard and inspecting it.

“It’s a biscuit that has a layer of marshmallow and jam, and it’s covered in chocolate. They’re my guilty pleasure,” Harry laughed, walking over to where Draco was standing in the kitchen.

“And what’s the rest of this shit? It looks like you cleaned out a Muggle sweet shop!” Draco huffed.

“I bought all of my favorite Muggle things, and I picked out stuff that I thought you’d like. Aero bars, Mikados, Squashies, a bunch of Cadbury stuff, and a few Maoam things,” Harry smiled, looking hopeful.

“Well … Thank you, Harry. Maybe we can try some tonight?” Draco suggested.

“Great. And I bought stuff for dinner, too. I’m going to make you dinner the Muggle way,” Harry stated.

“I’ll agree to that as long as I can be your sous-chef,” Draco said.

“Only if you don’t light anything on fire. This is my new home, you know.”

“Fuck off.”

Draco went back to his bedroom, picking out a grey sweater and a pair of navy trousers. He looked like a stranger in the mirror, having gotten so used to wearing Harry’s jeans and t-shirts.

Draco walked out to the living room to find Harry poking around the kitchen some more. When Harry saw Draco, he grinned.

“Ready?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Are we Flooing?” Draco inquired, beginning to feel slightly lightheaded from nerves.

“That’s the plan,” Harry said.

“Okay. Just … Give me a second. I’ll be right back,” Draco said, rushing back to his bedroom.

He crouched on the ground near his bed, attempting to take deep breaths as his body began to shake. After a few minutes, he could hear Harry’s footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Draco?” Harry asked, kneeling down next to him.

Draco didn’t respond, concentrating on trying to get a full breath.

Harry put his hand on Draco’s back. “You nervous?”

Draco nodded.

“Come here,” Harry said, holding his arms out.

Draco crumpled into them, clinging to Harry.

“Do you want to cancel?,” Harry asked softly, stroking the nape of Draco’s neck.

“No. No, I need to do this,” Draco choked out.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

After five minutes of calming him down, Harry was able to help Draco up.

“You’re okay?” Harry asked, concern written across his face.

“Yeah. Let’s get going,” Draco said, straightening out his sweater as they walked to the living room.

They stepped into the Floo, suddenly appearing at Granger and Weasley’s small flat. Harry stepped out first, Draco following.

“‘Mione! Ron! We’re here!” Harry shouted.

Weasley walked into the living room, a tight smile on his face. He wrapped Harry into a hug, pulling back only to stand awkwardly across from Draco.

“Uh, hi, Malfoy,” Ron greeted him.

“Weasley,” Draco nodded.

“Hermione’s in the kitchen putting on the kettle. I’m going to go get the cauldron cakes,” Weasley said, disappearing into the kitchen.

Harry led them to a small, circular table, the dining area shared with the living room space. Draco sat down next to him, picking at a cuticle.

“You sure you’re alright?” Harry whispered hastily.

Draco nodded, a pang of annoyance shooting through him. Harry was beginning to ask him if he was okay a little too much.

Granger padded into the living room, followed by Weasley. She had a bright smile on her face.

“Harry!” Granger said.

Harry stood up, enveloping her in a hug. Draco stood up too, unsure of what to do.

“And Draco, it’s lovely to see you,” Hermione greeted him, politely kissing him on the cheek.

“Thanks for having us,” Harry said, sitting back down.

Everyone followed, Granger and Ron setting down an antique teapot and a platter of cauldron cakes. After serving tea and doling out the cauldron cakes, Granger cleared her throat.

“So, how are things, Draco?” Granger asked, taking a sip of her black tea.

“Alright, thank you. Things are much better now that I have Harry as a friend, to be honest,” Draco said, attempting to smile.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Granger said.

“Thank you. What have you and Weasley been up to as of late?” Draco asked politely.

“Please, call us Hermione and Ron,” Hermione said, “and we’ve just been trying to get into a routine after … Everything that happened, I suppose. Ron started Auror training a few months ago, and I have an internship at the ministry. That takes up most of our time.”

“I didn’t know you were hoping to become an Auror, Wea— um, Ron,” Draco said. Ron’s face turned even more red as he cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah. I’ve wanted to be one for a couple years now. What about you? Are you doing anything career wise?”

“No, I, uh … No. I haven't quite gotten that far yet,” Draco said.

“That’s alright, Draco. Neither has Harry. Is there a particular field that interests you, though?” Hermione asked.

“Potions, I think. I’ve been considering applying for a Potions professor position at Hogwarts,” Draco replied, avoiding eye contact.

“That’s amazing!” Hermione exclaimed, grinning.

Draco saw why Harry liked her.

After an hour of small talk, Hermione and Ron went back to the kitchen to resupply hot water and cauldron cakes.

Harry turned to Draco. “This is your chance to apologize to them!”

Draco blanched. “What, now?”

“Yes!”

“Merlin’s tits.”

Draco slowly scooted his chair back. He took a deep breath before heading to the kitchen. At the sound of his footsteps, Hermione and Ron turned towards him.

“Hello. I, um … I just wanted to take this opportunity to apologize. I know I was awful to both of you in school and I feel horrible about it. Hermione, I’m deeply sorry for calling you a mudblood. You are an exceptionally talented witch and I always admired your talent for magic when we were at Hogwarts. And Ron, I’m sorry for always giving you and your family such a tough time. I was a spoiled child with rich parents and I had no grasp of reality. I truly hope you forgive me and that we can become friends,” Draco said hesitantly.

Before he knew it, Draco was wrapped in Hermione’s arms. “Thank you, Draco. That was very kind of you. I absolutely forgive you.”

After Hermione let go of him, Ron cleared his throat. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Draco felt relief wash over him.

After another hour filled with gossip and idle chatter, Harry suggested that they call it a night. They said goodbye, promising to visit Hermione and Ron again soon, and Flooed back to Draco’s flat.

Draco collapsed on the couch, and Harry followed.

“Well?” Harry said, blinking at Draco.

“I actually had a good time,” Draco admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh, I’m so glad. And guess what! The night isn’t over yet. Ready to cook some bomb-ass dinner with me?” Harry asked.

“Always.”


	18. Chapter 18

“I can’t believe you actually stir things by hand. Muggles. Bizarre,” Draco muttered, watching Harry stir simmering tomato sauce in a pan on the stove.

Harry snorted, looking at him. “Here, you give it a go while I start boiling the pasta water.”

Draco took the spoon from Harry. “Right.”

“Just stir, Draco. Like in Potions,” Harry smiled, going to the cupboard to get a package of spaghetti.

“I’m nearly certain that Hogwarts is the only place I’ve had spaghetti,” Draco stated, hesitantly stirring the sauce.

Harry turned to him, eyes wide. “No. Surely your parents fed you spaghetti.”

Draco shook his head, chuckling. “I mostly ate different variations of meat, potatoes, and vegetables.”

“What the fuck, Draco?” Harry asked, staring at Draco with his hands on his hips.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, smirking.

As they continued to cook, Draco felt himself relaxing more and more. He could get used to cooking with Harry every night.

“So, you lived with your aunt and uncle?” Draco asked, trying to make conversation.

Harry swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah. And my cousin. It wasn’t exactly the best of times.”

“Oh,” was all Draco could think of to say.

He didn’t want to pry, but he was also dying to know what had happened. Luckily, Harry chose to elaborate.

“I was brought there after my parents were killed. I was the same age as Dudley — my cousin — and I think that made things even worse. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs, and sometimes they would lock me in there for what seemed like forever. I know it sounds pathetic, but I used to name the spiders in my cupboard. I didn’t have any friends and Dudley was making my life a living hell. Aunt Petunia was my mom’s sister. She was always jealous of my mom, I think,” Harry said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Draco set the stirring spoon down and walked over to where Harry stood, wrapping him in a hug. His cheek rested against the top of Harry’s curly mop of hair.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t. Ron, Fred, and George rescued me from them on my twelfth birthday. They illegally flew Mr. Weasley’s flying car,” Harry laughed.

“Ron must love you a lot,” Draco said, pulling back from the hug.

He found his hand lingering on Harry’s hip, and Harry didn’t seem to mind.

“Yeah. He does. And I love him. And Hermione. They’ve always been such amazing friends. I don’t know how they managed with all of my bullshit,” Harry said.

“Because you’re important to them,” Draco responded.

Just then, a bubbling sound erupted from behind Draco. He quickly turned around, only to find the tomato sauce boiling over.

“Shit!” Harry said, running to turn the stove off while Draco pulled out his wand to begin _Scourgifying_.

As Harry salvaged what was left of the sauce, and Draco continued to clean the stove, they both found themselves bursting with laughter.

“Technically I didn’t set anything on fire, so I’m still your sous-chef,” Draco wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“If this is how you cook, I’m ordering take out,” Harry joked back.

After plating up, they sat down on the couch together. It was a cold night, so Harry put a blanket over both of them. The first few bites of spaghetti were silent, Draco taking the time to savor every forkful.

“Merlin, this is good. Where did you buy the spaghetti and sauce?” Draco asked, twirling the spaghetti onto his fork.

“Tesco,” Harry said through a mouthful of dinner.

“Tes-who?” Draco asked, puzzled.

Harry snorted. “Tesco. It’s a Muggle food store.”

“Huh. You’ll have to take me to this ‘Tesco’ some time,” Draco said.

“Deal.”

After dinner was finished, they brought their dishes to the sink. Draco cleaned them, insisting that it would be much quicker with a wand. Harry didn’t argue with that.

Once the dishes were done, Draco met Harry back on the couch. Harry put his back against the arm of the couch, stretching his legs out. He patted the space in between his legs for Draco to sit. He climbed in between Harry’s legs, leaning back on his chest as he huddled underneath the blanket. Draco could hear Harry’s heartbeat.

“Besides blowing up the tomato sauce, what did you think of dinner?” Harry asked.

Draco smiled up at him. “I loved it. Can we cook again tomorrow night?”

“Of course we can,” Harry said.

“So, is this officially your first night here at the flat?” Draco asked, offering a soft smile.

“Yep. Oh, I forgot to mention this to you earlier, but I also want to get a T.V. for the living room. I think you’d love T.V.”

“Mm. If it’s anything like the cinema, I’ll thoroughly enjoy it,” Draco agreed.

“Imagine it. We could sit here every night, just like this, eating dinner and watching T.V.,” Harry said longingly.

“I hope this never ends,” Draco found himself saying, closing his heavy eyelids.

“Me too.”

Before they knew it, they were both fast asleep, clinging to each other. It wasn’t until an ambulance, its siren blaring, blew by several hours later that they woke.

“Fuck. What time is it?” Draco murmured sleepily against Harry’s chest.

“It must be around two or three. Why don’t you go to bed? I can transfigure the couch,” Harry suggested.

Draco sat up. “Come sleep in my bed for now. It’ll be easier.”

Harry agreed and together they stumbled into Draco’s bedroom.

“Want to change into pajamas before getting into bed?” Harry asked, looking at a pile of his clothing on the floor that Draco had collected.

“Yeah. You go first,” Draco said.

Harry picked up a t-shirt and pair of joggers and headed into the bathroom, quickly changing. Draco changed next. By the time he got back, Harry was already in bed, having claimed the left side of the mattress. Soft snoring emitted from his mouth. Draco walked around to where he was sleeping and pulled the duvet right up to Harry’s chin. He then climbed into bed, wrapping his arms around Harry. It was an odd feeling to hold the man who had saved the wizarding world, but Draco didn’t give it too much thought. Instead, he concentrated on the warmth of Harry’s skin and what it felt like to tuck his chin into the nape of his neck.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco felt a hand against his cheek. He blinked tiredly and saw Harry standing over him, a lopsided grin across his face.

“Don’t get up. I just wanted to ask you how you prefer your eggs,” Harry whispered.

“Scrambled,” Draco murmured.

“Perfect. I’ll get you up when breakfast is ready,” Harry said, exiting the bedroom.

The next thing Draco knew, half an hour had passed and Harry was sitting on his side of the bed, a hand on his chest.

“Draco, breakfast is ready. Want me to bring it back here, or do you want to eat at the table?” Harry asked.

Draco sniffed and sat up, stretching. “Mm. I’ll go out there. Give me a minute and I’ll be right out.”

“No rush,” Harry said.

As soon as Harry left, Draco quickly went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and straightened out his bedhead. Content, he walked out to the kitchen.

On the circular dining room table, which was nestled between the open kitchen and living room, sat a full breakfast spread: eggs, potatoes, toast, and orange juice. Harry beamed at him, pulling out a chair. Draco walked in somewhat of a daze and sat down in the chair Harry was holding out.

“Merlin, Harry, you did all this?” Draco asked, eyeing the food.

Harry sat down next to him. “I thought it would be nice to celebrate my first night sharing a flat with my new roommate.”

“I won’t argue with you. Did you cook this without magic?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“Yep. I genuinely don’t know how to cook with magic,” Harry shrugged, buttering a piece of toast.

Draco followed, giving himself two pieces of toast, a tall glass of orange juice, and a large helping of eggs and potatoes.

“I’ll have to teach you, then. Before my mother … Died … She was on a baking spree. She showed me how to bake with magic, which I’m grateful for,” Draco said.

“It’s a deal. I’ll teach you the Muggle way, and you’ll teach me the wizard way,” Harry said, giving Draco a toothy smile.

“So, do you have any plans for today?” Draco asked.

“Not really, no. What about you?”

“None. I don’t really know what to do with myself now that I’m out of the Manor. But, at the same time, I don’t know if I even have the energy to do things,” Draco shrugged.

Harry swallowed a bite of egg. “I get that. Want me to suggest some things we could today, or would you rather stay at home?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Draco said, frowning.

“You okay?” Harry asked out of the blue.

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Yes? You’ve been asking me if I’m okay a lot over the past two days.”

Harry blushed. “I know. It’s part of the OCD. I compulsively ask my loved ones if they’re okay.”

Draco took a drink of his juice. “I know you said you have OCD, but I haven’t noticed anything odd about you — besides asking if I’m okay, of course.”

Harry bit his lip. “Gee. Thanks, Draco. I’m sorry it’s not more obvious to you how much pain I’m in on a daily basis.”

“Wait - fuck, Harry. That’s not what I meant. Or maybe it is. I don’t know,” Draco rambled, reaching his hand out to Harry’s.

“It’s fine,” Harry sighed.

Draco thought it was a good sign that Harry hadn’t moved his hand from under Draco’s.

“If you’re willing, would you be able to tell me more about your OCD? So I understand it better?” Draco asked, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“Sure. What do you want to know?” Harry asked, giving Draco a sad smile.

“Everything.”

“Right. Uh, well, it’s actually been okay the past few days. Or, until yesterday, anyway. It’s better when I keep myself busy. The downside of that is I run myself ragged. But I would rather be exhausted than feel like if I don’t say something or do something I’m going to die. You know?”

“What does the dying feeling feel like?” Draco prodded.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “It feels like the world is collapsing on my chest. My arms go numb, and whatever is going on in my head is all I can think about. If I don’t do or say whatever it is, my brain tells me that I’m a bad person, a liar, an abuser — just terrible things.”

Draco sighed. “Will you tell me when you notice it getting bad? I want to help.”

“Of course. I just want you to prepare yourself, because I’ll probably get more annoying as I become closer to you. My OCD is completely relationship driven. I just … I really don’t want to annoy you or scare you away,” Harry whispered, poking at his eggs.

Draco, swallowing his fears, tilted Harry’s chin up so that they were looking each other in the eye. “You’ll never scare me away, Harry. I can promise you that.”

“How do you know that, though? You haven’t seen me at my worst. Most of the time I feel like I’m going insane. I don’t want this to be something that comes between us,” Harry said, letting his chin rest on Draco’s palm.

“And you haven’t seen me at my worst. Look, we’re going to figure this out together, okay?” Draco said, giving Harry a reassuring smile.

This time when Harry smiled back, it reached his eyes.

“Completely off topic, but what do you think of breakfast?” Harry asked.

“I want you to cook for me all day, every day,” Draco stated.

Harry laughed. “Right. Well, I think we can work something out.”

“Excellent.”

“You know, you never answered my question about what you want to do today,” Harry said, smirking.

Draco groaned. “If we were to go out, what would you suggest we do?”

“Have you ever flown over a beach?” Harry asked.

“A beach? No, never. But need I remind you that it’s December? Nearly Christmas? A beach would be freezing!” Draco said.

“Not if you wear the right gear,” Harry smirked.

“We’re going to a beach today, aren’t we?”

“You know it, you git.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Here’s some warm clothes,” Harry said, handing an armful of clothing to Draco in his bedroom at 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Thanks. I’ll go change,” Draco said. After beginning to walk towards the bathroom, he turned around again and pondered aloud, “you know, we should really move all of your shit to the flat.”

Harry snorted. “What, you don’t like the way I procrastinate?”

“Not really, no. Why don’t we also work on that today?” Draco asked.

“Alright, alright. But only after I take you to the beach,” Harry said lightly, smiling.

Draco found himself blushing. “I’m going to go change. Be right back.”

Draco walked to the bathroom, a route he was now familiar with, and warded the door behind him. He turned his attention to the clothing he had been given: a pair of black jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a grey sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, and a puffy down jacket.

After changing, Draco looked in the mirror and promptly decided that the amount of layers he was wearing made him look like a marshmallow. He stomped out of the bathroom and lumbered to Harry’s room, deciding that he was going to pout at the sheer ridiculousness of his outfit, when something stopped him.

As Draco reached the doorway, he realized that Harry hadn’t finished changing yet. His back was to Draco, and he presumably didn’t know he was there. Harry was wearing light jeans but there was nothing covering his torso. Draco watched his back muscles twitch and move as he went to grab a shirt that was hanging off the foot of the bed. Draco must have made a noise because Harry turned around, smiling at the sight of him.

“Hey. You look cozy,” Harry teased, pulling on his own long-sleeved shirt.

Draco gulped, attempting to get his scrambled thoughts together.

“You git. I look like a marshmallow.”

Harry snickered, putting on a yellow sweatshirt and puffy winter coat. “Alright. Ready?”

Draco sighed. “I suppose. I do miss Elvendork.”

They wound their way downstairs and through the backdoor, walking to where Elvendork was situated. The charcoal clouds above looked menacing and a heavy mist engulfed everything in sight. Draco could see that Harry’s lenses were beginning to dot with particles of mist.

After settling in on Elvendork and putting their helmets on, Harry turned his neck so he could look at Draco. “I’ve never taken anyone to this beach,” Harry admitted, a small amount of red reaching his cheeks.

Draco smiled softly. “Where is it?”

“It’s in Farnham. Frensham Great Pond is what it’s called. It’s got an amazing beach, and no one will be there at this time of year. I stumbled upon it a few months ago, and I haven’t stopped going since,” Harry explained, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Pushing down his nerves, Draco scooted closer on the seat and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “Let’s go then, shall we?”

With that, Harry nodded and turned around. A few minutes later, and they were in the air, steadily gaining elevation. After only a few moments of flying, Draco could feel a thick layer of mist soaking into his hair, coat, and skin. For warmth, he huddled closer to Harry, resting his pointy chin on his shoulder. Draco closed his stinging eyes, concentrating only on what he could feel. Harry’s body was warm - but not warm enough to keep Draco from shivering. He could feel every individual droplet of mist soaking into his frigid bones and he was desperate for more warmth. Carefully pulling out his wand, he murmured the warming incantation. Draco could immediately feel the effects of it and he sank comfortably into the back of Harry’s body.

“Did you just do the warming charm?” Harry shouted from ahead.

“Yes! I was freezing my bollocks off!” Draco shouted back.

“Thank you!” Harry said, his voice catching in the glacial wind.

They rode in comfortable silence for the remaining seven minutes of the flight, Elvendork steadily purring against the winter sky.

Draco looked down, taking in snippets of a small town down below through the clouds blowing by. He went back to closing his eyes, not opening them until they began to descend. Draco could spot where Harry was aiming to land: a strip of sand on an empty beach. They landed with a soft thump, a wave of sand spraying up behind them.

Draco got up first, sliding off his helmet and running a hand through his damp hair. He put a hand out to Harry, helping to pull him up. Harry took off his helmet and shook out his coiled curls.

“You have absolutely horrible helmet hair,” Draco snickered.

Before he knew what he was doing, his hand was in Harry’s hair, attempting to smooth out what he could of his helmet hair. Five seconds went by before he realized what he was doing, and his hand stopped mid-comb. Harry was staring at him, his mouth slightly agape. Draco cleared his throat and retracted his hand from Harry’s hair.

“Awful, Harry. Just awful,” Draco said, attempting to recover from what had just happened.

There was only a brief awkward pause before Harry broke out into a grin. “You’re just jealous, _Malfoy_ ,” Harry said, putting an emphasis on Draco’s last name.

He knew that Harry was teasing, but an uncomfortable feeling settled into Draco’s throat. That wasn’t who he was anymore.

Trying to not think about it, Draco took a look around for the first time. A large, frosty pond sat before him, the blue water reflecting the dark clouds in the sky. Trees dotted with fresh snow lined the beach for as far as he could see, and the grains of sand on the beach seemed to be coarser than average.

“C’mon. Follow me,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s numb hand.

Harry led them to where the water met the shore. Draco watched him, an enormous smile plastered across his face, and he couldn’t help but smile as well.

“You look happy,” Draco said.

Harry turned to him, his cheeks a bright pink. “I am. Take off your shoes.”

Draco gave him a questionable look. “Fun fact, it’s bloody December.”

“Doesn’t matter. One cannot wear shoes to a beach. Take them off. Socks, too,” Harry said, already beginning to peel his shoes and socks off.

Draco let out an exaggerated sigh. “You better make sure the flat is warm tonight, or I swear …”

As soon as both of their shoes and socks were off, Harry walked into the edge of the lapping water.

“Fucking hell, this is cold,” Harry murmured to himself, hopping from one foot to another.

“I can’t believe I asked you to move in with me,” Draco deadpanned.

Harry looked up. “Come on. It’s not too bad. Really.”

Draco snorted. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”

“Please.”

Draco caught Harry’s intense stare, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Oh, fine,” Draco sighed, stepping into the water.

His breathing hitched as the coldness bit his ankles. As Draco acclimated to the water temperature, Harry reached down and scooped up a handful of water. Moving quickly, so as to not lose any momentum, Harry threw the water at Draco, laughing. The cold water hit Draco in his torso and he jumped back.

“Really, Harry? That’s how you want to play it? Fine!” Draco shouted, struggling to keep laughter from his voice.

He reached his hand into the pond water, flicking a good amount onto Harry’s pant leg. In response, Harry began using his foot to kick water onto Draco and Draco did the same. They aggressively tried to drench each other, both laughing far beyond their stomachs hurting.

“Take this!” Harry shouted, attempting to both kick water with his foot and throw water with his hand. As he did so, he lost balance and fell, water sloshing around him as he landed on his bum. He barked out deep laughter.

“You alright there, Harry?” Draco snickered, walking towards Harry.

He immediately regretted doing so, as Harry grabbed his ankle, causing him to lose balance and fall into the water.

“Huh? How do you like that?” Harry teased, flopping onto Draco.

“Fuck you!” Draco shouted as they rolled around in the shallow water.

They remained like that for some time, splashing around until they both ran out of breath. Harry's torso rested at a slant where the water met the sand. Draco’s body was sprawled on top of him and they were face to face, panting. Draco looked at Harry, taking in the picture of his heaving chest and soaked hair and glasses. Despite knowing it was awkward, Draco couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Harry.

“Didn’t know you had that in you,” Harry grinned, breaking the silence.

“Mm. There’s lots you don’t know about me,” Draco replied, smirking.

“Mind getting up? My ears are getting clogged with water,” Harry said.

Draco blushed and rolled off of him. “Sure. Sorry.”

They both stood up, their clothing filled with sand and weeds. They were dripping a shameful amount of water.

“You look ridiculous,” Draco snorted, laughing at the state Harry was in.

Harry smirked. “You don’t look so hot, either.”

“ _Scourgify_ and heating charm, then? Chop chop!” Draco instructed, and Harry grabbed his wand from his back pocket.

After Harry cast the spells, Draco felt warm, dry, and much more comfortable.

They lumbered to Elvendork, sliding onto the seat and pulling their helmets on. As they rose in the air, Draco wrapped his arms tighter around Harry’s torso and he leaned his head against the nape of his neck.

“Good day so far?” Harry asked.

“Good day.”


	21. Chapter 21

“Please? Please, please, please?”

Draco stared at Harry, who was giving him puppy-dog eyes, and huffed. “Fine. We don’t have to go through your shit today. But, that just means we have to do it tomorrow.”

Harry grinned, sinking further into the couch. “Fine by me.”

“You’re insufferable,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Speaking of being insufferable, I’m proud of you for managing not to burn down our flat while helping me cook dinner,” Harry said, laughing.

Draco shoved his elbow into Harry’s side. “Fuck off. I’m a great cook, thank you very much.”

Harry snorted. “That, I have yet to see.”

“Would you be useful and grab some of those delightful, yet so artificial, sweets you stuffed the cupboards with?” Draco pleaded.

Harry rolled his eyes as he stood up. Draco could hear him rummaging through packages before returning. He threw a red box on Draco’s lap.

“Here you go. Maltesers.”

“Huh,” Draco said, inspecting the box. He gingerly opened it, taking out a piece and popping it into his mouth. “Oh. This is good.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “They’re the best.”

“I keep forgetting to ask you. What are your plans for Christmas?” Draco asked.

“Oh, I’m just going to the Weasleys’ house. I always do. I’ll be spending the night on Christmas Eve. You know, you’d be more than welcome to come,” Harry said, offering a small smile.

“No, I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone. It’s okay, Harry. Really,” Draco insisted.

“I would much prefer it knowing that you weren’t spending Christmas alone,” Harry said, frowning.

“It’s really alright. You’ll have to buy me a television, though, so I can amuse myself with these awful Muggle Christmas movies you keep going on about,” Draco replied, shoving down the choking feeling of sadness.

Harry was quiet for a moment before saying, “I won’t force you to go, but I want you to know that you’re more than welcome at The Burrow. But, seeing that I’m not going to sway you, why don’t you and I go Christmas shopping tomorrow? And on Christmas Eve, we can have our own celebration. How does that sound?”

“Mm. Good,” Draco said absently.

Harry sighed. “Alright, what’s wrong?

” “Nothing.”

“Liar. Something is obviously wrong.”

“I’m tired, Harry. That’s it. I’d like to do a little reading before I go to bed, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to transfigure the couch for you,” Draco said.

Harry looked taken aback, but he stood up. “Yeah, sure. No problem. I’ll let you know when the bathroom’s free.”

As Harry went to brush his teeth, Draco sighed. He pulled out his wand and easily transfigured the couch into a modest bed for Harry. He then went to the closet that held all of his shrunken boxes full of belongings and rifled through them, searching for a book. He finally found the one he was looking for, a childhood favorite of his that always brought comfort.

Draco perched on the edge of the makeshift bed, waiting for Harry to finish. When he heard the bathroom door open, Draco crept down the hall. He met Harry halfway.

“Well, goodnight, Harry,” Draco said.

“Draco, are you honestly okay? I just … I can feel something is off,” Potter said, worrying his hands.

“I’m fine, Harry. Please stop asking me. Goodnight,” Draco snapped.

Without another word, he walked into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and got into bed. The lights in the kitchen and living room were out, so he presumed Harry had gotten into bed. As he began to read, his eyes felt heavy. The next thing he knew, he was sound asleep.

A whimpering noise slowly prodded at his consciousness. Then, a scream. Draco’s eyes snapped open. It was still dark out. He looked at the clock on the nightstand and it read 3:47 a.m. Draco groaned. He must have been dreaming.

Rolling over, Draco settled back into bed. Just as he closed his eyes, he heard it again - a scream. He sat up, listening to the sound once more before pushing through his grogginess to realize that the sound was coming from Harry.

Draco leapt out of bed, grabbed his wand, cast lumos, and scurried down the hall. He found Harry, completely asleep, twisting and moaning in bed. A few tears were leaking from his eyes. Draco sat on the edge of the bed and gently shook him. Suddenly, green eyes were staring at him through the dark.

“Harry? You okay?” Draco asked softly.

“I, uh, it was just a nightmare,” Harry sighed, rubbing his head.

“You want to talk about it?” Draco asked.

“Not really. I just … I’m having the urge to ask you questions. Is that okay?” Harry asked.

“Of course. Fire away,” Draco said, slipping into Harry’s bed.

He opened his arms, and Harry crawled into them, resting his head on Draco’s chest.

“You still like the flat? I haven’t ruined it for you?” Harry asked.

“No! No. You’re what makes the flat tolerable,” Draco said.

“And what about our friendship? You’re still happy with it?”

“Yes! I love our friendship.” Harry closed his eyes.

“You won’t leave?”

Draco held Harry closer, running a hand through his unruly hair. “No, Harry. I’m never going to leave you.”

“What about Christmas? What if you come to resent me?”

“Merlin, that would never make me resent you. You’re just spending Christmas with your family. That’s it.”

Harry took a deep breath. “And you won’t leave?”

“Never.” “Can I just ask one more time?”

Draco nodded. “Absolutely.”

A tear rolled down Harry’s cheek. “You won’t leave?”

“Never. I promise,” Draco reassured him.

After thirty minutes of intense question-asking, they decided to try to sleep. Draco stayed in the makeshift bed as he didn’t want to leave Harry. Just as he thought Harry had fallen asleep, he spoke.

“Just one last time. You don’t think you’ll leave?”

“Never.”


	22. Chapter 22

Draco woke on Christmas Eve morning on Harry’s chest, the rhythm of his slowed, relaxed breathing raising his head gently up and down. He pulled the blanket, which Harry had promptly tangled during the night, up to his chin and settled further on Harry’s chest.

“Mm. Morning,” Harry mumbled sleepily.

Draco briefly raised his head so he could see him. “Morning.”

“How’d you sleep?” Harry asked.

“Alright. You?” Draco replied, dropping his head back down onto Harry’s chest.

“Same. Not great, but not horrible. I think I’m worried about leaving you today. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to the Burrow?” Harry prodded, running his fingers through Draco’s hair.

Draco let out a soft sigh, closing his eyes. “I’m sure. Christmas isn’t the time to get to know them. I don’t want to make things tense or uncomfortable on a holiday.”

“I get what you mean. Well, in that case, would you rather open your present before I leave or when I get back tomorrow night?” Harry asked.

“Present? You got me a present?” Draco asked, sitting up.

A small smile played on Harry’s lips. “Of course I got you a present, you git. Come one, I’ll make you breakfast.”

Ten minutes later, Draco was lounging comfortably on the living room couch while Harry was in the kitchen making something that smelled heavenly. White morning light poured in from behind the curtains, basking everything in a golden sheen.

“How come you always manage to end up in my bed?” Draco asked, looking at Harry.

A pink tint bloomed on Harry’s cheeks. “It’s comfier than the transfigured bed. Plus, I always end up falling asleep while talking to you, so it’s really your fault.”

Draco let out a snort. “Uh-huh.”

Harry walked out of the kitchen, balancing two large plates in his hands. He set them down on the small, circular kitchen table.

“Okay, it’s ready.”

Draco wandered over to the table, intrigued as to what Harry had made. On the plates sat two pieces each of what appeared to be French toast.

“It smells like orange. And … Cranberry?” Draco asked, sitting down next to Harry.

“Yep. I got the recipe from Mrs. Weasley.”

They both dug in, savoring the flavors in silence. Draco couldn’t believe that Harry had made such an elaborate meal for him, especially considering he was to be travelling later in the day.

After breakfast, they moved back to the couch. Draco tucked himself under a large, fluffy blanket, his stomach full and content.

“Want your present?” Harry asked.

“I’d love it. I’ve got to get you yours, though. Be right back!” Draco said, scurrying down the hallway and into the bedroom.

After rummaging through his sock drawer, he found the present he had hidden in it a week ago. Returning, Draco saw that Harry had fetched his present, as well. It was a fairly small parcel, resting on top of the coffee table. He relaxed into the couch next to Harry.

“Alright, who’s going first?” Draco asked.

“You go first. I’m saving my present for you for last,” Harry instructed.

“Right. Well, here. It’s nothing too exciting,” Draco said, clearing his throat nervously as he handed Harry the wrapped item.

He watched as Harry carefully tore the wrapping paper away from the present, his eyes lighting up when he saw what it was.

“It’s a Betty Crocker cookbook! Where the hell did you find this?” Harry asked, laughing in amazement as he began to flick through the pages.

“I wrote a letter to Hermione asking for help in finding a Muggle cookbook for you,” Draco said softly, smiling at Harry.

“I love it. I’ll make you something on Boxing Day, okay? Merlin, I can’t wait to use this,” Harry said, holding the book close.

“I’m so glad you like it,” Draco said, grinning.

“Merlin, I love it. Thank you. Now, time for you to open your present,” Harry said, setting down the cookbook on the coffee table and handing Draco his present.

Draco ripped the paper, revealing two small, rusted mirrors. They were scratched and covered in stains, and he wondered what the significance was behind them.

“Okay, so this needs a bit of an explanation. These aren’t just regular mirrors. They’re … Well, they’re two-way mirrors that Sirius created while he was at Hogwarts. Here, you look into one and I’ll look into the other,” Harry instructed, taking one of the mirrors in his hands.

Draco looked into his mirror and, to his amazement, found himself looking at Harry’s reflection. “What the hell?”

Harry laughed. “Okay, so you can see me and I can see you, right? Well, I figured that they’d be nice to have if we’re ever not with each other. That way, we can both check in. I know that I’ll feel better going to the Burrow today since you’ve got this. I can check on you.”

Draco felt his cheeks going warm. “Thank you, Harry. I can’t believe you gave them to me. I just … Thank you.”

“Of course, Draco. Merry early Christmas.”

“Merry early Christmas, Harry.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: brief panic attack, grounding exercises

“Happy New Year, Draco. How are things?”

Draco blinked at Bea. “Happy New Year. And, uh, fine.”

Bea crossed her legs and sighed. “Well, let me ask you this — how was Christmas without your mother?”

“It was, well, sad.”

“Can you expand upon that?”

“Do I have to?”

“No, of course not. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. However, I will say that talk-therapy is the most effective when clients talk about the things in life that are uncomfortable,” Bea explained.

Draco cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I was alone for Christmas. Harry went to the Weasleys’ house, and he invited me, but I turned him down. I didn’t want to intrude. So, I ended up spending the majority of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone. I … Had a lot of time to think.”

Bea pursed her lips, staring at him. “And what did you think about, Draco?”

“My family, mostly.”

“I see,” Bea said, jotting down notes on her piece of parchment. “What kind of thoughts came to your mind about your family?”

“Well, that I miss them — my parents, I mean. Christmas was always such a happy time at home. My parents really knew how to spoil me. Every Christmas morning, I would run down the stairs knowing that the fireplace would be lit and there would be a mountain of presents underneath our tree. Our house-elf cooked most of the time, but my mother always made breakfast on Christmas. She would make crepes and we’d fill them with jams and cream while talking about school, my friends, and just about anything else. And then we’d spend the entire day together as a family, lounging around in our pajamas. My father is a rather uptight person, I suppose, but Christmas was the one day that he let himself relax,” Draco said softly.

“That makes a lot of sense, Draco. The first holiday without a loved one is notoriously tough, never mind not having two loved ones around,” Bea said.

Draco sniffed his tears back. “Yeah. It’s just … Fuck. I miss them so much. I miss the way my father would hug me on Christmas morning, and he would smell like rosemary and smoke. And my mother — I can’t think about her. What I wouldn’t give to have her back.”

“Can I offer you a tissue?” Bea asked, and Draco nodded.

“Merlin, it hurts so much,” he gasped, kneading his chest with the palm of his hand in an attempt to ease some of the pressure.

“Okay. It’s alright, Draco. What are you feeling?” Bea asked, scooting forward in her chair.

Draco let out a messy sob. “It’s heavy. Everywhere.”

“Okay, let’s notice things around the room, shall we? The walls are white, the day is sunny, and my chair is brown. Can you tell me three things you notice, Draco?” Bea asked softly.

“There’s a floor lamp, a painting of the ocean, and an orchid on the bookshelf,” Draco said obediently.

“Good. Keep going.”

“The curtains are white, your shoes are purple, my shoes are brown.”

Draco continued to point out the simple things he noticed around the room, Bea gently urging him forward. After five minutes, he found his breath slowly returning and Bea sat back in her chair.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Draco nodded slowly. “Better, I think. My body is kind of numb, but it’s also tingly, and I’m tired.”

“That’s pretty usual. What we just did is called grounding and it’s a tool I want you to use. If you ever feel yourself getting worked up or in the midst of having a panic attack, try to point out different things to yourself, wherever you are. And don’t be afraid to say these things aloud, Draco. Would Harry be able to help you with it?” Bea asked.

“Yeah — yeah, he’d help.”

“Excellent. How has your friendship with him been?” Bea inquired.

Draco sat back against the couch and sighed. “Good. It’s nice being so close to him.”

Bea quirked her head slightly. “What do you mean by close?”

“Well, we do everything together and he knows about my PTSD. I even asked him to be my roommate right before Christmas, since he was feeling so lonely at his old house. He transfigures the couch into a bed, but most of the time we fall asleep talking in my room. It’s just really nice having him around. He’s dependable and reliable, and I always feel safe,” Draco shrugged.

“Draco, can you tell me more about your relationship with Harry? I have a hypothesis, but I want to test it out,” Bea said.

“Oh. Um, sure. I guess I just feel less lonely around him. He motivates me to get up in the morning, although that’s mostly because I want to get away from his snoring. We cuddle a lot and being held by him makes me feel like nothing in the world can hurt me. I hold him a lot, too, especially when his OCD is bad. When I’m wrapped around him, I always find myself thinking about how the small being in my arms saved the entirety of the wizarding world. It just doesn’t seem possible. Oh, and he cooks for me a lot, Muggle food, mostly, and I love it. I just … I love our life together,” Draco said, vividly replaying memories he had built over the past month with Harry.

Bea bit her lip, opening her mouth several times before any words came out. “Draco, what you’re describing … It sounds an awful lot like a romantic relationship. Have you ever considered this?”

Draco choked on his spit mid-swallow, coughing. “I’m — I’m sorry?”

Bea sighed. “From the way you’re describing your relationship with Harry, it sounds like you’re more than friends. However, I don’t know if this has ever even dawned on you.”

“Me and … Harry? Nope. No way,” Draco insisted, his pale cheeks turning crimson.

“Draco, I am all for men being more in touch with their feminine side, and I think it’s very healthy for two men to cuddle and be affectionate with one another. This doesn’t mean that they are inherently interested in men. However, I think you might have feelings for Harry that you don’t recognize,” Bea said.

Draco frowned. “I’m not saying I do, but how would I know if I did have feelings for him?”

“Well, feelings are different for everyone. For example, when I see my wife, I get a fluttery feeling in my stomach and I can’t stop smiling. She’s my best friend and I love spending time with her. I find that I easily feel embarrassed in front of her out of a want to seem cool, despite us having been married for five years,” Bea said, smiling to herself.

“I’ve got to go. I … I’ve got to go,” Draco murmured, quickly standing up from the couch and walking to the door.

“Draco? Our session isn’t over quite yet,” Bea said as he opened the door.

He looked back at her, his chest rising and falling in an unstable rhythm. “I need to go think.”

With that, he slammed the door and left.


	24. Chapter 24

Draco paced back and forth across the sidewalk that ran in front of the flat. He could see that the living room lamp was on, casting an amber glow against the late afternoon light. An overwhelming feeling burst through his veins, causing his hands to go numb and his heart to crawl into his throat.

He thought about Bea’s words. Feelings for Harry. That was a new one, and Draco didn’t know what to think about it. He’d never even contemplated the idea that he might not be solely into women, if at all. The more he mulled it over, the more uncomfortable he became. He tried picturing a woman — the curve of her breasts and the dip of her hips, leading down to soft thighs. Nothing. His mind then turned to Harry. Draco remembered how he looked when cooking, a lopsided grin plastered to his face as he taught Draco how to manually stir. He felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach and he banished all of the thoughts from his head.

A sudden knocking caught Draco’s attention and he looked up to the living room window. Harry was there, grinning against the glass. He motioned for Draco to hurry up, causing him to swallow thickly. He pushed open the door leading into the lobby of the flat and wound his way up the stairs. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of his front door.

In an attempt to stifle his anxiety, he opened the door with as much haste as he could muster. Harry greeted him, pulling him into a tight hug. Draco stiffened, hesitating a moment before reciprocating the action. Although he couldn’t fully relax into the warmth of Harry’s arms, it was nice, comforting. Harry smelled like cinnamon and black tea, a scent that was both familiar and intoxicating. Before he could think about it too much, Draco pulled away.

Harry’s eyes flicked in confusion for a mere second. “How was therapy?”

Draco cleared his throat nervously, walking down the hallway and into the bedroom. From there, he shouted, “great! Good. Nothing happened. We certainly didn’t talk about you.”

“O-okay? Glad it was good,” Harry said, following Draco into the bedroom.

He plopped himself onto the edge of the bed. Meanwhile, Draco had peeled off his shirt and was in the midst of replacing it with one of Harry’s cotton t-shirts. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him as he fumbled to change into the t-shirt as quickly as possible, thankful that he’d already changed his trousers.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Draco asked, hoping for a distraction from the chaos happening in his body.

“Want to watch a movie? I’ve been dying to test the television out since we bought it at Christmas. Just haven’t gotten around to it, I suppose,” Harry suggested.

Draco gulped. “Okay. And what about dinner?”

“Want to order in? I’d kill for some Chinese,” Harry said.

Draco began to walk back to the living room, and Harry followed. “Uh, sure. Chinese food sounds good.”

When he reached the living room, he crammed himself as much as he could into the corner of the couch. Harry rifled through a small collection of video tapes. He popped one in before sitting down on the couch, holding his arms out.

“Want to come here?” he asked, and Draco eyed his arms suspiciously. Nervously scooting towards him, Draco said, “only if you put a blanket over me. It’s bloody freezing.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said, reaching behind him to get the large, fluffy blanket that had been thrown over the arm of the couch. He smoothed it out over himself and Draco, who had hesitantly climbed into his arms - his body arranged in between Harry’s legs.

“Mind handing me the pillow?” Harry asked, pointing at a decorative pillow near Draco’s feet.

Draco tossed it to him, and Harry put it behind his back to act as a small barrier between his back and the arm of the couch. They were lying long-ways and Draco could feel Harry’s feet rubbing his own.

The television hummed to life as Harry armed himself with the remote, pressing the appropriate buttons until the menu disappeared and the screen opened to a black background.

“What are we watching?” Draco asked, his body rigid against Harry’s chest.

“Something called ‘Star Wars.’ You’ll love it,” Harry assured him, his right hand tangling itself in Draco’s ashen hair.

“Oh.”

The movie began playing and Draco tried his best to concentrate on the plot, which was admittedly very intriguing. However, he couldn’t help but feel the consistent rising and falling of Harry’s chest, the sound of his beating heart thrumming in Draco’s ears. He burrowed further into the blanket, hoping to choke the anxiety out.

Time passed by with painful slowness. Halfway through the movie, Harry got up to order food. Once it arrived, they ate it in silence, Draco not tasting a single forkful of his chow mein.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked through a mouthful of food.

“Peachy,” Draco replied as convincingly as he could.

Harry frowned. “I’ve never seen you this jumpy before. Well, bar 6th year, of course.”

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, that was a pretty agitating time.”

“Well, I’m here if you want to talk,” Harry said, setting down his empty plate onto the coffee table and resuming the action of combing his fingers through Draco’s hair.

Once the movie was complete, Harry turned off the television with a click of the remote. “So, what’d you think of it?”

Draco nodded in approval. “I liked it. You said there are more?”

“Yeah, two more. We could watch ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ tomorrow if you want," Harry suggested.

“Sounds good.”

“Draco, look at me.”

Draco slowly turned his body around so that he was practically straddling Harry.

“You’re making me nervous. What’s wrong?”

Before Draco knew what he was doing, he found himself pressing his lips against Harry’s.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: OCD and PTSD triggers

Harry’s lips were warm and wet, and Draco sighed into the kiss, tangling his hands into Harry’s hair without hesitation. He could make out the soft sound of a low groan coming from the back of Harry’s throat as he cupped Draco’s cheek.

Suddenly, the warmth disappeared, and Draco found himself looking at a very distressed Harry, whose eyes were wide with fear.

“Are we having sex?” Harry said, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Draco swallowed thickly, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Wait, sex?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded “Sex. You kissed me, and I need to know if it’s going to lead to sex.”

“Harry, I’m not following,” Draco frowned.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes briefly before saying in a slightly irritable voice, “I just need to know if we’re having sex or not.”

“No, we’re not. Definitely not now, anyway,” Draco huffed. “I still don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to get at.”

“If we were to have sex, I’d need to plan,” Harry said, his voice quivering as a small tear rolled down his cheek.

“Sex isn’t something you can just plan, Harry. It’s supposed to be spontaneous, but why does it matter? We haven’t even talked about the kiss yet,” Draco said, his voice raising slightly.

“You’re not getting it. I don’t want to be asking about sex right now,” Harry shot back, letting out a breath.

“Then why did you?” Draco spat, standing up and beginning to pace the length of the living room.

Harry also stood up, fully crying. “Because if I didn’t, I was going to die!”

“What the hell does that mean?” Draco asked, tears dripping down his face.

“It means that my OCD can’t let me just have a normal fucking reaction to being kissed by you,” Harry sobbed.

Draco could feel the sensation of ants crawling on his skin, something he always felt when his fight or flight response began to kick in. He knew this was getting to be too much and his body couldn’t handle the stress.

“I need to go to the bedroom. Don’t follow me,” Draco said, walking down the hallway and slamming the door before Harry had a chance to follow.

After securing the lock on the door with shaking fingers, Draco collapsed onto the floor with uneven breaths. His blurry vision was slowly fading to black. Digging his nails into his raw palms, Draco desperately clung to his consciousness, darkness tugging at his mind.

He began to retch, coughing acid up onto the wooden floor as his eyes burned from hot, salty tears. His chest felt constricted, as though it was being crushed from the inside out. Somewhere in his rattled mind, Draco remembered the grounding strategy that Bea taught him. He wearily looked around the room, trying to make out different shapes and objects.

“The floor is wood, the walls are white, the room is cold, the duvet is white and grey,” Draco said into the thin, dry air.

He spent fifteen minutes curled on the ground, pointing out things in the room he noticed — things that were tangible. As soon as his breathing began to even out, he dragged his body off the floor and into bed, tucking his lanky body into a ball.

Draco stared blankly at the wall, trying to remember what had happened. He knew he had kissed Harry, but there was no recollection beyond that.

The more Draco thought about the kiss, the more his chest hurt in confusion and fear. He didn’t know what Harry thought of the kiss — whether he was repulsed, disgusted, or even if he enjoyed it. Something had clearly happened to cause him to black out, but, as hard as he strained the limits of his thoughts, he couldn’t remember.

As Draco closed his eyes, sinking further into his tear-stained pillow, he heard the front door slam. Knowing that he was alone in the flat, he let out a loud, audible sob, his shoulders violently shaking with each heave of air.

The sun had long sunk into the horizon, the full moon casting a silver glow through the bedroom window. The flat was silent - the only noise being that of Draco’s heavy breathing and barely audible whimpers. His body hurt, and all he wanted was to be held by Harry, but that wasn’t an option. He had obviously done something to hurt Harry, which was painful enough, but not being able to remember what it was he had done made the feelings of guilt and sadness all the more overwhelming.

Draco could feel the crushing absence of Harry. It was as though all of the air had gone out the door with him, leaving Draco to suffocate. The more he dwelled on the idea of Harry wandering in the dark, cold January night alone, the more he felt a piercing pinch of dread in the bottom of his stomach. He had no way of reaching Harry, nor did he know where he was heading. Draco didn’t even know if he’d come back — a concept that was far too painful to bear.

The wind whistled through the naked trees that sat outfront the flat, the noise echoing loudly against the window. Off in the distance, he could hear the vivid, blaring sound of a siren cutting through the quiet night. Draco gulped, his mind instinctively turning to the idea of Harry being hurt.

As Draco mulled over the fear of losing Harry, he very quickly realized that he couldn’t imagine life without the man. Despite having only reconciled a little over a month ago, Draco already felt as though Harry was as much a part of him as he was. He could navigate Harry’s thoughts and feelings as though they were his own, the closeness of their souls becoming more and more prevalent to Draco.

He loved Harry, plain and simple. He loved everything about that mess of a human being, from his cooking, to his poor jokes, to his ridiculous need to take care of everyone he cared about. Looking back, it made sense to Draco. He had spent so many years obsessing over his hatred of Harry Potter when, in reality, it was love in disguise.

Draco sat up, took in a shaky breath, and stood. After quickly pulling on a pair of trainers, he ran out the door in search of Harry.


	26. Chapter 26

A violent shiver ran down Draco’s spine as he emerged into the inky night, and the wind whipped his naked skin, causing his frantic eyes to water. The temperature burned low, the frigid air seeping through his sweatshirt and joggers as he wove his way around the back of the flat building, checking to see if Harry’s motorcycle was still there. The small space where the powdery blue bike normally sat was vacant, and Draco’s stomach lurched.

He needed a plan — a clear, logical plan that would, hopefully, lead him to Harry. He thought for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he had an idea. A broom.

Draco dashed around the front of the building and into the lobby, sprinting up the stairs that led to the flat. There, he unlocked the door with shaky hands that were dripping with sweat, the key sliding around in his fidgeting fingers. At last, he was able to get the door open, and he burst inside, skidding to a halt in front of the fireplace.

Swallowing the significant lump of fear in the back of his throat, Draco grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the fireplace mantle and stepped inside, saying the address clear and concisely as green flames engulfed him.

A moment later, Draco stepped out of a different fireplace, the flat dark and filled with shadows.

“Hermione! Ron! It’s Draco!” Draco yelled, waiting impatiently in the living room.

He heard scrambling from the other end of the flat, and a moment later Hermione padded out, pulling her flannel robe tightly around her. He felt a sweep of embarrassment, suddenly remembering that it was, in fact, the early hours of the morning.

“Draco? What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows knitted together.

“Harry. I kissed him and it triggered his OCD. I kind of blew up at him, and then he left our flat—” Draco began, but Hermione stopped him.

“Wait. Backup and start from the beginning. You’re sharing a flat with Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yes. We’ve been sharing one for about a month. He’s been trying to find the right time to tell you.”

Hermione sighed, pushing her frizzy hair out of her face. “Alright, go on. You said you kissed him and this spurred his OCD?”

“Right. And because of my PTSD, I get irritable a lot. I got mad at him and then he left. He took the motorcycle,” Draco said, panting from the adrenaline.

“Ron! Get out here!” Hermione yelled before turning back to Draco. “Okay. We can help you look for him.”

Before Draco had a chance to respond, Ron stumbled into the living room. “Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing in our flat at 1:30 a.m.?”

“Ronald, we have a bit of a situation,” Hermione began, pacing. “Long story short, Draco and Harry are sharing a flat. Draco kissed him and this triggered his OCD. Draco snapped at him and he left with the motorcycle.”

“Merlin, that’s a lot,” Ron muttered, rubbing his temples. “Okay. Alright. Malfoy, I swear if he’s hurt because of you—”

“Ron, it’s okay. This isn’t Draco’s fault and this really isn’t the time to be pointing fingers. What can we do to help?” Hermione asked.

“I’ll need a broom if I want any chance of catching up with him. Do either of you own a broom?” Draco asked desperately.

Ron nodded. “I do, but I want to go with you.”

“I was actually hoping we could split up — search in different places, that sort of thing,” Draco said.

Ron frowned. “Alright. I suppose that’ll work.”

“Okay, boys. Ron, you go to The Burrow. See if he’s there. I’ll go to Grimmauld Place. Draco, where are you thinking of searching first?” Hermione asked.

“Frensham Great Pond. He took me there once and I know it’s special to him,” Draco said.

“That sounds like a plan. Ron and I can use the Floo and Apparate to get around, and you can take the broom,” Hermione said.

“I’ll go get the broom,” Ron murmured through a stifled yarn, quickly disappearing to the back of the flat.

“You know, I’m not surprised that you and Harry are so close,” Hermione said softly.

Draco let out a small laugh. “Really?”

Hermione nodded. “There’s always been something between you two.”

“Do you think Ron is okay with it? Me being close to Harry?” Draco asked nervously.

“I think it’ll take him a few days to process it and warm up to the idea, but he’ll be fine with it. As long as you promise him that you won’t hurt Harry, you won’t have any problems,” Hermione said.

Ron came back with an older model broomstick, and he had pulled on a sweatshirt. “Okay, no more wasting time. Let’s go find Harry.”

They said their goodbyes, and Draco watched the both of them take turns disappearing into the fireplace. As soon as they were gone, he opened one of the large windows in the living room, frigid air nipping at him. Before he had the chance to turn back, Draco took a leap of faith, pushing off of the windowsill and into the black night.

Thankfully, he was able to maneuver the broomstick underneath him. He steered himself upwards, grazing above the rooftops of Ron and Hermione’s Muggle neighborhood. Stars blazed overhead, a silver sheen falling on the earth. The moon hung low, full, and bright in the winter sky, lighting his way.

He flew steadily in the direction of Farnham, recalling the route from when he and Harry had travelled to the pond.

Draco made good timing, spotting the pond after twenty minutes of flying. The deep blue water shimmered under the night sky and in the sand, Draco could spot a silhouette. He landed gracelessly, kicking up a wave of sand. Harry was standing near the surf, staring at the body of water. He didn’t seem to notice Draco — that, or he was ignoring him. Draco dropped Ron’s broom in the sand and slowly walked over to Harry, stopping when he was a few feet away.

Harry was crying, clear tears rolling down his face. Without looking at Draco, he said, “I hate this.”

“Hate what, Harry?” Draco asked softly, creeping a little closer.

Harry sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “I hate how my OCD ruins things. Good things. Great things. I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the moment I saw you at therapy and as soon as it finally happened, I completely fucked it up.”

“No, you didn’t fuck it up … Wait, you said you’ve been wanting to kiss me?” Draco asked, dumbfounded.

“Yeah. Why do you think I’m so affectionate with you? I always want you near me,” Harry replied, finally looking at Draco. His green eyes were ringed red, and he had a sad smile on his lips.

Mustering up whatever courage he could find, Draco stepped closer, slowly wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. “I’ve been wanting the same thing. I just didn’t realize it until I was at therapy yesterday. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, Harry Potter, but I love you, and I’m so sorry I reacted the way I did. My irritation and anger are things I’m really going to try to work on with Bea.”

Harry leaned forward, pressing into Draco’s arms. “You love me?”

Draco nodded. “I love you and I always have. I was just too stupid to see it.”

“I love you, too,” Harry whispered, his voice catching in the wind.

To Draco’s surprise, Harry pressed their lips together. He sank into the warmth of the kiss, his fingers digging into Harry’s waist. He could feel Harry’s hands winding their way into Draco’s hair, tugging them closer.

When they broke apart, Draco let out a nervous laugh, pushing their foreheads together. “We should probably let Hermione and Ron know that you’re alright.”

“Did you tell them what happened?” Harry asked.

“I did. Was that okay?”

Harry nodded. “It's fine. I would’ve eventually needed to tell them I’m in love with you, anyway.”

Draco could feel heat rising to his cheeks. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

They walked hand in hand to where Elvendork was parked, picking up Ron’s broom and shrinking it along the way. As they climbed onto the motorcycle, Harry in the front and Draco in the back, he couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of hope.


	27. Chapter 27

Wind whistled through Draco’s hair as he clung to Harry, who was delicately steering the motorcycle through the winter sky. He sighed deeply, relaxing into the comfort of Harry’s touch as they flew to Hermione and Ron’s flat, hoping that one of them would be there.

Within twenty minutes, they had arrived at the flat. Harry held the broom still as Draco shoved the living room window open. An amber lamp burned from inside, signalling that at least one of them was home.

“Merlin, it’s so much warmer in here,” Draco muttered as he stepped over the windowsill and into the heated flat.

Harry followed, stumbling a little as he climbed into the living room.

“Draco? Is that you?” Hermione yelled from the direction of her bedroom, padding down the hall.

When she reached the living room, a scowl crossed her face as she wrapped Harry in an aggressive hug.

“You arse! You had us worried sick,” Hermione said, pulling back from the hug.

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” Harry said sheepishly, his cheeks burning hot.

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “It's okay. I'm just so glad you're alright. I need to write to Ron that you’re here. He’s still at The Burrow.”

“It’s okay, Hermione. I can do it. You two should … Catch up,” Draco suggested, knowing fully well that Hermione wanted nothing more than to grill Harry.

“Thank you, Draco. I’ll get you a quill and parchment,” Hermione said, heading back in the direction of her bedroom.

As soon as Hermione disappeared, Harry turned to Draco, enveloping him in his arms as he whispered, “how do I even begin to tell her everything?”

Draco lifted his hand, running his fingers through the hair on the nape of Harry’s neck. “You don’t have to tell her anything you don’t want to, you know. This is your story and you get to write it at your own pace.”

“No, I want to tell her. And Ron, for that matter. I just want them to love you as much as I do,” Harry said, pulling back to look at Draco.

Draco sighed. “It’ll take time, Harry. I don’t expect them to love me right now and I don’t know if they ever will. But I know that we’ve already made progress, and that’s all you and I can ask for.”

Harry frowned. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Draco smirked, pressing a light kiss to Harry’s forehead.

Harry snorted, “Uh-huh.”

Hermione entered the room armed with parchment, a quill, and an inkpot, setting the writing equipment down on the kitchen table. “Alright, Draco. Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, settling into one of the wooden chairs.

“Do you mind if we step into your bedroom?” Harry asked Hermione nervously, fiddling with the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Not at all. I think we have a lot to talk about,” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.

As she led Harry back to the bedroom, Draco unscrewed the inkpot lid, gently dipping the quill in the thin liquid.

_Ron,_

_I found Harry at the pond. We’re at your flat, safe and sound. Harry is catching Hermione up on everything right now, and I’m sure he’ll want to do the same with you the next time we meet up. I imagine we’ll be going back to our flat before you get home._

_I’ll let Harry explain, but I think I’m going to be around for a while. I just want to reiterate how sorry I am for my past behavior, and I truly hope that we can become friends. If things had been different, I do think we would have gotten along at school._

_How does dinner tomorrow sound? Harry’s been teaching me how to cook. I’d recommend eating at our flat since I don’t fully trust myself to not blow up your kitchen. I don’t think you or Hermione would be particularly pleased with me._

_Draco_

He read the letter over once more before scooting his chair back and walking slowly down the hallway that led to the bedroom. He could hear the soft voices of Harry and Hermione talking behind the door.

“So, you love him?” Hermione asked softly.

“I do. I think I always have, to be honest. He was just such a git in school that I didn’t have the chance to think about how I felt towards him,” Harry laughed. “But I do love him. He’s just … He's everything.”

Draco could hear Hermione sigh lightly. “I’m really happy for you, Harry. I just have one question. Do you think he’s able to support you with your OCD? I know he lost his patience with you tonight.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind. He has his own issues to deal with, and I’m going into this relationship knowing that things aren’t always going to be easy. I think that’s what makes us so special, though. We get to heal together.”

Draco smiled to himself, softly knocking on the door.

“Come on in,” Harry said, greeting Draco with a grin.

A large tawny owl sat perched on the footboard of the bed, cleaning its feathers.

“All done?” Hermione asked.

“Yes,” Draco said, handing her the letter.

Hermione grabbed it and gave it to the owl, who hooted softly before flying swiftly out of the open window.

“Well, we better get going. I hope you can sleep in,” Harry said, frowning at Hermione.

“Oh, don’t worry about us. We’re fine. Draco, please make sure he takes care of himself,” Hermione pleaded.

“I absolutely will. We’re going straight to bed,” Draco said, arching an eyebrow at Harry.

“Alright, alright. Well, we’ll see you later, ‘Mione,” Harry said, giving her a hug.

To Draco’s surprise, once they were done saying their goodbyes, Hermione wrapped him in a tight squeeze.

“Thank you for being there for him, Draco,” Hermione murmured in his ear, and he nodded silently.

They used the Floo to get home, the flat cold and dark. Neither of them bothered turning on any lights, Harry grabbing Draco’s hand as he tugged him towards the bedroom.

Within minutes, they were both in bed, shirtless. Draco sighed at the sensation of skin on skin, warming him from the inside out. Wind howled outside the window and the moon flickered silver specks of light into the bedroom.

They were face to face, so close that their noses were brushing against each other. Out of the corner of Draco’s eye, he could see Harry’s lips gently turned upwards.

“I’m sorry about tonight, but I’m pretty happy with how things have turned out,” Harry whispered.

“Me too.”

They kissed, their lips pushing hungrily against each other with a desperate craving. They didn’t stop until the sky began to fade from a dusty purple to a soft orange, icy winter light falling on their bodies.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I don't know if I have the words. I've been working on this fic for four months, and I'm so sad to be saying goodbye to it. I want to thank you all for the immense amount of encouragement you've left along the way. This is the first Drarry fic I've ever completed, and it means the world to me that I've gotten so much support💜

Precisely two years later, Draco and Harry curled up on their couch, the sharp winter sun melting into the blush-colored sky. Empty bowls that had been filled with curry laid about the coffee table, torn pieces of naan bread resting in them.

Draco sighed, leaning his head onto Harry’s chest as the television flickered. “I can’t believe it’s been two years.”

Harry looked down at Draco, the thrumming in his chest speeding up. “Best two years of my life.”

“Mine, too,” Draco grinned as Harry ran his fingers through his ashen hair.

“Also, do you know if Ron and Hermione have found out the sex of their baby yet?” Harry chuckled.

“Yeah. Sorry, I completely forgot to tell you. They’re having a girl and they’re thinking of naming her Rose.”

Draco nodded approvingly. “Rose. I like it.”

“I know Ginny and Luna are taking Hermione wedding dress shopping tomorrow. Should be interesting to see what fits over her bump,” Harry snickered.

“True. I’m sure she’ll look lovely no matter what.”

Harry sighed, tilting Draco’s chin upwards. “I’ve actually been thinking about families a lot. Namely, one with you.”

Draco smiled softly, his cheeks glowing crimson. “Harry, we’re twenty.”

“Screw age. I just know I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“So … Is this a proposal?”

Harry shook his head, smiling softly. “Not yet. I want to do something special for that. Think of this more as a promise.”

“A promise. I can get behind a promise.”

Their lips met, the warmth from Harry's mouth feeling like the sensation of climbing into bed after a long day.

The six months following the Battle of Hogwarts had been filled with painful days, home being where the hurt was. But now, things were different. Home was where Harry was and that was all that Draco needed.


End file.
